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UNCLE REMUS 

HIS SONGS AND HIS SAYINGS 

BY 

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS 

NEW AND REVISED EDITION 

WITH ONE HUNDRED AND 
TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY A.B. FROST 


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NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1908 


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Copyright, 1880, 1895, b\ t 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

Copyright, 1908, by 
ESTHER LA ROSE HARRIS 



-S-. 







PEEFACE AND DEDICATION 
TO THE NEW EDITION. 


To Arthur Burdette Frost: 

My dear Frost : I am expected to supply a preface 
for this new edition of my first book—to advance from 
behind the curtain, as it were, and make a fresh bow to 
the public that has dealt with Uncle Remus in so 
gentle and generous a fashion. For this event the 
lights are to be rekindled, and I am expected to 
respond in some formal way to an encore that marks 
the fifteenth anniversary of the book. There have 
been other editions—how many I do not remember— 
but this is to be an entirely new one, except as to the 
matter: new type, new pictures, and new binding. 

But, as frequently happens on such occasions, I 
am at a loss for a word. I seem to see before me the 
smiling faces of thousands of children—some young 
and fresh, and some wearing the friendly marks of age, 
but all children at heart—and not an unfriendly face 
among them. And out of the confusion, and while I 



[y PREFACE AND DEDICATION. 

am trying hard to speak the right word, I seem to hear 
a voice lifted above the rest, saying : “ You have made 
some of us happy.” And so I feel my heart fluttering 
and my lips trembling, and I have to bow silently and 
turn away, and hurry back into the obscurity that fits 
me best. 

Phantoms ! Children of dreams ! True, my dear 
Frost; but if you could see the thousands of letters 
that have come to me from far and near, and all fresh 
from the hearts and hands of children, and from men 
and women who have not forgotten how to be chil¬ 
dren, you would not wonder at the dream. And such 
a dream can do no harm. Insubstantial though it may 
be, I would not at this hour exchange it for all the 
fame won by my mightier brethren of the pen—whom 
I most humbly salute. 

Measured by the material developments that have 
compressed years of experience into the space of a day, 
thus increasing the possibilities of life, if not its beauty, 
fifteen years constitute the old age of a book. Such a 
survival might almost be said to be due to a tiny sluice 
of green sap under the gray bark. Where it lies in the 
matter of this book, or what its source—if, indeed, it 
be really there—is more of a mystery to my middle age 
than it was to my prime. 

But it would be no mystery at all if this new 
edition were to be more popular than the old one. Do 
you know why ? Because you have taken it under 


PREFACE AND DEDICATION. 


v 


your hand and made it yours. Because you have 
breathed the breath of life into these amiable brethren 
of wood and field. Because, by a stroke here and a 
touch there, you have conveyed into their quaint antics 
the illumination of your own inimitable humor, which 
is as true to our sun and soil as it is to the spirit and 
essence of the matter set forth. 

The book was mine, but now you have made it 
yours, both sap and pith. Take it, therefore, my dear 
Frost, and believe me, faithfully yours, 


Joel Chandler Harris. 












INTRODUCTION. 


I am advised by my publishers that this book * is to 
be included in their catalogue of humorous publications, 
and this friendly warning gives me an opportunity to 
say that however humorous it may be in effect, its in¬ 
tention is perfectly serious ; and, even if it were other¬ 
wise, it seems to me that a volume written wholly in 
dialect must have its solemn, not to say melancholy, 
features. With respect to the Folk-Lore series, my 
purpose has been to preserve the legends themselves in 
their original simplicity, and to wed them permanently 
to the quaint dialect—if, indeed, it can be called a 
dialect—through the medium of which they have be¬ 
come a part of the domestic history of every Southern 
family ; and I have endeavored to give to the whole a 
genuine flavor of the old plantation. 

Each legend has its variants, but in every instance I 
have retained that particular version which seemed to 
jne to be the most characteristic, and have given it 
without embellishment and without exaggeration. The 
dialect, it will be observed, is wholly different from that 

vii 



INTRODUCTION. 


viii 

of the Hon. Pompey Smash and his literary descend¬ 
ants, and different also from the intolerable misrepre¬ 
sentations of the minstrel stage, but it is at least pho¬ 
netically genuine, nevertheless, if the language of 
Uncle Remus fails to give vivid hints of the really 
poetic imagination of the negro; if it fails to embody 
the quaint and homely humor which was his most 
prominent characteristic j if it does not suggest a cer¬ 
tain picturesque sensitiveness—a curious exaltation of 

mind and temperament not to be defined by words_ 

then I have reproduced the form of the dialect merely, 
and not the essence, and my attempt may be accounted 
a failure. At any rate, I trust I have been successful 
in presenting what must be, at least to a large portion 
of American readers, a new and by no means unattract¬ 
ive phase of negro character—a phase which may be 
considered a curiously sympathetic supplement to Mrs. 
Stowe’s wonderful defense of slavery as it existed in 
the South. Mrs. Stowe, let me hasten to say, attacked 
the possibilities of slavery with all the eloquence of 
genius ; but the same genius painted the portrait of the 
Southern slave-owner, and defended him. 

A number of the plantation legends originally ap¬ 
peared in the columns of a daily newspaper—The At¬ 
lanta Constitution—and in that shape they attracted the 
attention of various gentlemen who were kind enough 
to suggest that they would prove to be valuable contribu¬ 
tions to myth-literature. It is but fair to say that 


INTRODUCTION. 


IX 


ethnological considerations formed no part of the un¬ 
dertaking which has resulted in the publication of this 
volume. Professor J. W. Powell, of the Smithsonian 
Institution, who is engaged in an investigation of the 
mythology of the North American Indians, informs me 
that some of Uncle Remus’s stories appear in a number 
of different languages, and in various modified forms, 
among the Indians ; and he is of the opinion that they 
are borrowed by the negroes from the red-men. But 
this, to say the least, is extremely doubtful, since an¬ 
other investigator (Mr. Herbert H. Smith, author of 
Brazil and the Amazons) has met with some of these 
stories among tribes of South American Indians, and 
one in particular he has traced to India, and as far east 
as Siam. Mr. Smith has been kind enough to send me 
the proof-sheets of his chapter on The Myths and 
Folk-Lore of the Amazonian Indians, in which he re¬ 
produces some of the stories which he gathered while 
exploring the Amazons. 

In the first of his series, a tortoise falls from a tree 
upon the head of a jaguar and kills him; in one of 
Uncle Remus’s stories, the terrapin falls from a shelf in 
Miss Meadows’s house and stuns the fox, so that the 
latter fails to catch the rabbit. In the next, a jaguar 
catches a tortoise by the hind-leg as he is disappearing 
in his hole; but the tortoise convinces him he is hold¬ 
ing a root, and so escapes ; Uncle Remus tells how the 
fox endeavored to drown the terrapin, but turned him 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


loose because the terrapin declared his tail to be only a 
stump-root. Mr. Smith also gives the story of how the 
tortoise outran the deer, which is identical as to incident 
with Uncle Remus’s story of how Brer Tarrypin outran 
Brer Rabbit. Then there is the story of how the tortoise 
pretended that he was stronger than the tapir. He tells 
the latter he can drag him into the sea, but the tapir 
retorts that he will pull the tortoise into the forest and 
kill him besides. The tortoise thereupon gets a vine- 
stem, ties one end around the body of the tapir, and 
goes to the sea, where he ties the other end to the tail 
of a whale. He then goes into the wood, midway be¬ 
tween them both, and gives the vine a shake as a signal 
for the pulling to begin. The struggle between the 
whale and tapir goes on until each thinks the tortoise 
is the strongest of animals. Compare this with the 
story of the terrapin’s contest with the bear, in which 
Miss Meadows’s bed-cord is used instead of a vine-stem. 
One of the most characteristic of Uncle Remus’s stories 
is that in which the rabbit proves to Miss Meadows and 
the girls that the fox is his riding-horse. This is almost 
identical with a story quoted by Mr. Smith, where the 
jaguar is about to marry the deer’s daughter. The 
cotia—a species of rodent—is also in love with her, and 
he tells the deer that he can make a riding-horse of the 
jaguar. “ Well,” says the deer, “ if you can make the 
jaguar carry you, you shall have my daughter.” There¬ 
upon the story proceeds pretty much as Uncle Remus 


INTRODUCTION. 


xi 


tells it of the fox and rabbit. The cotia finally jumps 
from the jaguar and takes refuge in a hole, where an 
owl is set to watch him, but he flings sand in the owl’s 
eyes and escapes. In another story given by Mr. 
Smith, the cotia is very thirsty, and, seeing a man com¬ 
ing with a jar on his head, lies down in the road 
in front of him, and repeats this until the man puts 
down his jar to go back after all the dead cotias he has 
seen. This is almost identical with Uncle Remus’s 
story of how the rabbit robbed the fox of his game. 
In a story from Upper Egypt, a fox lies down in the 
road in front of a man who is carrying fowls to 
market, and finally succeeds in securing them. 

This similarity extends to almost every story quoted 
by Mr. Smith, and some are so nearly identical as to 
point unmistakably to a common origin ; but when and 
where? When did the negro or the North American 
Indian ever come in contact with the tribes of South 
America ? Upon this point the author of Brazil and 
the Amazons, who is engaged in making a critical and 
comparative study of these myth-stories, writes : 

“ I am not prepared to form a theory about these stories. 
There can be no doubt that some of them, found among the 
negroes and the Indians, had a common origin. The most 
natural solution would be to suppose that they originated in 
Africa, and were carried to South America by the negro 
slaves. They are certainly found among the Red Negroes; 
but, unfortunately for the African theory, it is equally cer- 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION. 


tain that they are told hy savage Indians of the Amazons 
Valley, away up on the Tapajos, Red Negro, and Tapura. 
These Indians hardly ever see a negro, and their languages 
are very distinct from the broken Portuguese spoken by the 
slaves. The form of the stories, as recounted in the Tupi 
and Mundurucu languages, seems to show that they were 
originally formed in those languages or have long been 
adopted in them. 

“ It is interesting to find a story from Upper Egypt (that 
of the fox who pretended to be dead) identical with an 
Amazonian story, and strongly resembling one found by 
you among the negroes. Varnhagen, the Brazilian historian 
(now Visconde de Rio Branco), tried to prove a relationship 
between the ancient Egyptians, or other Turanian stock, and 
the Tupi Indians. His theory rested on rather a slender 
basis, yet it must be confessed that he had one or two strong 
points. Do the resemblances between Old and New World 
stories point to a similar conclusion ? It would be hard to 
say with the material that we now have. 

“One thing is certain. The animal stories told by the 
negroes in our Southern States and in Brazil were brought 
by them from Africa. Whether they originated there, or 
with the Arabs, or Egyptians, or with yet more ancient" 
nations, must still be an open question. Whether the In¬ 
dians got them from the negroes or from some earlier source 
is equally uncertain. We have seen enough to know that a 
very interesting line of investigation has been opened.” 

Professor Hartt, in his Amazonian Tortoise Myths, 
quotes a story from the Riverside Magazine of Novem¬ 
ber, 1868 , which will be recognized as a variant of one 
given by Uncle Remus. I venture to append it here, 



INTRODUCTION. 


xiii 


with some necessary verbal and phonetic alterations, in 
order to give the reader an idea of the difference be¬ 
tween the dialect of the cotton plantations, as used by 
Uncle Remus, and the lingo in vogue on the rice 
plantations and Sea Islands of the South Atlantic 
States: 

“One time B’er Deer an’ B’er Cooter (Terrapin) was 
courtin’, and de lady did bin lub B’er Deer mo’ so dan B’er 
Cooter. She did bin lub B’er Cooter, but she lub B’er Deer 
de morest. So de noung lady say to B’er Deer and B’er 
Cooter bofe dat dey mus’ hab a ten-mile race, an’ de one dat 
beats, she will go marry him. 

“go B’er Cooter say to B’er Deer: ‘You has got mo’ 
longer legs dan I has, but I will run you. You run ten mile 
on land, and I will run ten mile on de water! ’ 

“ So B’er Cooter went an’ git nine er his fam’ly, an’ put 
' one at ebery mile-pos’, and he hisse’f, what was to run wid 
B’er Deer, he was right in front of de young lady’s do’, in 
de broom-grass. 

“ Dat mornin’ at nine o’clock, B’er Deer he did met B’er 
Cooter at de fus mile-pos’, wey dey was to start fum. So he 
;all: ‘ Well, B’er Cooter, is you ready ? Go long! ’ As he 
git on to de nex’ mile-pos’, he say: ‘B’er Cooter!’ B’er 
Cooter say: ‘Hullo!’ B’er Deer say: ‘You dere?’ B’er 
Cooter say: ‘ Yes, B’er Deer, I dere too.’ 

“Nex’ mile-pos’ he jump, B’er Deer say: ‘Hullo, B’er 
Cooter!’ B’er Cooter say: ‘Hullo, B’er Deer! you dere 
too ? ’ B’er Deer say: ‘ Ki! it look like you gwine fer tie 
me; it look like we gwine fer de gal tie! ’ 

“ W’en he git to de nine-mile pos’ he tought he git dere 
fus, ’cause he mek two jump; so he holler: ‘ B’er Cooter! ’ 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION. 


B’er Cooter answer: ‘ You dere too ? ’ B’er Deer say: ‘ It 
look like you gwine tie me.’ B’er Cooter say: ‘Go long, 
B’er Deer. I git dere in due season time,’ which he does, 
and wins de race.” 

The story of the Rabbit and the Fox, as told by the 
Southern negroes, is artistically dramatic in this : it 
progresses in an orderly way from a beginning to a 
well-defined conclusion, and is full of striking episodes 
that suggest the culmination. It seems to me to be to 
a certain extent allegorical, albeit such an interpretation 
may be unreasonable. At least it is a fable thoroughly 
characteristic of the negro; and it needs no scientific 
investigation to show why he selects as his hero the 
weakest and most harmless of all animals, and brings him 
out victorious in contests with the bear, the wolf, and 
the fox. It is not virtue that triumphs, but helplessness ; 
it is not malice, but mischievousness. It would be pre¬ 
sumptuous in me to offer an opinion as to the origin of 
these curious myth-stories; but, if ethnologists should 
discover that they did not originate with the African, 
the proof to that effect should be accompanied with a 
good deal of persuasive eloquence. 

Curiously enough, I have found few negroes who 
will acknowledge to a stranger that they know anything 
of these legends; and yet to relate one of the stories 
is the surest road to their confidence and esteem. In 
this way, and in this way only, I have been enabled to 
collect and verify the folk-lore included in this volume. 


INTRODUCTION. 


XV 


There is an anecdote about the Irishman and the rabbit 
which a number of negroes have told to me with great 
unction, and which is both funny and characteristic, 
though I will not undertake to say that it has its origin 
with the blacks. One day an Irishman who had heard 
people talking about “ mares’ nests ” was going along 
the big road—it is always the big road in contradistinc¬ 
tion to neighborhood paths and by-paths, called in the 
vernacular “ nigh-cuts ”—when he came to a pumpkin- 
patch. The Irishman had never seen any of this fruit 
before, and he at once concluded that he had discovered 
a veritable mare’s nest. Making the most of his oppor¬ 
tunity, he gathered one of the pumpkins in his arms 
and went on his way. A pumpkin is an exceedingly 
awkward thing to carry, and the Irishman had not 
gone far before he made a misstep, and stumbled. The 
pumpkin fell to the ground, rolled down the hill into a 
“ brush-heap,” and, striking against a stump, was broken. 
The story continues in the dialect: “ W’en de punkin 
roll in de bresh-heap, out jump a rabbit; en soon’s de 
I’shmuns see dat, he take atter de rabbit en holler: 
‘ Kworp, colty! kworp, colty! ’ but de rabbit, he des 
flew.” The point of this is obvious. 

As to the songs, the reader is warned that it will be 
found difficult to make them conform to the ordinary 
rules of versification, nor is it intended that they should 
so conform. They are written, and are intended to be 
read, solely with reference to the regular and invariable 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


recurrence of the caesura, as, for instance, the first stanza 
of the Revival Hymn : 

“ Oh, whar | shill we go | w’en de great | day comes | 

Wid de blow | in’ er de trumpits | en de bang | in’ er de 
drums | 

How man | y po’ sin | ners’ll be kotch’d [ out late 
En fine | no latch | ter de gold | en gate | ” 

In other words, the songs depend for their melody 
and rhythm upon the musical quality of time , an^ not 
upon long or short, accented or unaccented syllables. 
I am persuaded that this fact led Mr. Sidney Lanier, 
who is thoroughly familiar with the metrical pe 
ties of negro songs, into the exhaustive invescigai 
which has resulted in the publication of his scholarly 
treatise on The Science of English Verse. 

The difference between the dialect of the legends 
and that of the character-sketches, slight as it is, marks 
the modifications which the speech of the negro has 
undergone even where education has played no part in 
reforming it. Indeed, save in the remote country dis-, 
tricts, the dialect of the legends has nearly disappeared. 
I am perfectly well aware that the character-sketches are 
without permanent interest, but they are embodied here 
for the purpose of presenting a phase of negro char¬ 
acter wholly distinct from that which I have endeav¬ 
ored to preserve in the legends. Only in this shape, 
and with all the local allusions, would it be possible to 
adequately represent the shrewd observations, the curi- 


INTRODUCTION. 


XYll 


ous retorts, the homely thrusts, the quaint comments, 
and the humorous philosophy of the race of which 
Uncle Remus is the type. 

If the reader not familiar with plantation life will 
imagine that the myth-stories of Uncle Remus are told 
night after night to a little boy by an old negro who 
appears to be venerable enough to have lived during 
the period which he describes—who has nothing but 
pleasant memories of the discipline of slavery—and 
who has all the prejudices of caste and pride of family 
that were the natural results of the system; if the 
can imagine all this, he will find little difficulty 
vA appreciating and sympathizing with the air of affec¬ 
tionate superiority which Uncle Remus assumes as he 
proceeds to unfold the mysteries of plantation lore to a 
little child who is the product of that practical recon¬ 
struction which has been going on to some extent since 
the war in spite of the politicians. Uncle Remus de¬ 
scribes that reconstruction in his Story of the War, and 
I may as well add here for the benefit of the curious 
that that story is almost literally true. 

J. C. H. 


2 








■ 






















































■ 








CONTENTS 


Legends of the Old Plantation. 

I.—Uncle Remus initiates the Little Boy . 

II.—The Wonderful Tar-Baby Story . 

III. —Why Mr. Possum loves Peace 

IV. —How Mr. Rabbit was too sharp for Mr. Fox 

V. —The Story of the Deluge, and how it came abou 

VI. —Mr. Rabbit grossly deceives Mr. Fox . 

VII.—Mr. Fox is again victimized 
VIII—Mr. Fox is “ outdone ” by Mr. Buzzard 

IX.—Miss Cow falls a Victim to Mr. Rabbit 
X—Mr. Terrapin appears upon the Scene. 

XI.—Mr. Wolf makes a Failure . 

XII.—Mr. Wolf tackles Old Man Tarrypin . 

XIII. —The Awful Fate of Mr. Wolf 

XIV. —Mr. Fox and the Deceitful Frogs 

XV.—Mr. Fox goes a-hunting, but Mr. Rabbit bags the Game 

XVI.—Old Mr. Rabbit, he’s a Good Fisherman 

XVII.—Mr. Rabbit nibbles up the Butter 
XVIII.—Mr. Rabbit finds his Match at last 

XIX.—The Fate of Mr. Jack Sparrow . 

XX.—How Mr. Rabbit saved his Meat . 

XXI.—Mr. Rabbit meets his Match again 


V 

7 
11 
16 V 
20 
24 
30 
36 
41 
47 
53 
58 
62 
68 
72 
75 
80 
86 
92 
98 
103 







XX 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

XXII.—A Story about the Little Rabbits .... 107 

XXIII.—Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Bear.Ill 

XXIV.—Mr. Bear catches Old Mr. Bull-Frog . . .115 

XXV—How Mr. Rabbit lost his Fine Bushy Tail . . 120 

XXVI.—Mr. Terrapin shows his Strength .... 124 

XXVII.—Why Mr. Possum has no Hair on his Tail . . 129 

XXVIII.—The End of Mr. Bear.135 

XXIX.—Mr. Fox gets into Serious Business .... 140 

XXX.—How Mr. Rabbit succeeded in raising a Dust . . 146 

XXXI.—A Plantation Witch.150 

XXXII.—“ Jacky-my-Lantern”.156 

XXXIII.—Why the Negro is Black.163 

XXXIV.—The Sad Fate of Mr. Fox.165 

Plantation Proverbs . . . s i . . . 173 

His Songs. 

I. —Revival Hymn.181 

II.—Camp-Meeting Song.182 

III. —Corn-Shucking Song.184 

IV. —The Plough-hands’ Song.188 

V.—Christmas Play-Song.189 

VI.—Plantation Play-Song.191 

VII.—Transcriptions: 

1. A Plantation Chant.193 

2. A Plantation Serenade .... 195 

VIII.—De Big Bethel Church.196 

IX.—Time goes by Turns.197 

A Story of the War .201 

His Sayings. 

I.—Jeems Rober’son’s Last Illness.215 

II. —Uncle Remus’s Church Experience .... 216 








CONTENTS. 


xxi 


III. —Uncle Remus and the Savannah Darkey 

IV. —Turnip Salad as a Text 

V.—A Confession. 

VI.—Uncle Remus with the Toothache 

VII.—The Phonograph. 

VIII.—Race Improvement .... 

IX.—In the Role of a Tartar 

X.—A Case of Measles .... 

XI.—The Emigrants. 

XII.—As a Murderer. 

XIII. —His Practical View of Things 

XIV. —That Deceitful Jug 

XV.—The Florida Watermelon 

XVI.—Uncle Lemus preaches to a Convert . 

XVII.—As to Education. 

XVIII.—A Temperance Reformer 

XIX. —As a Weather Prophet.... 

XX. —The Old Man’s Troubles 

XXI.—The Fourth of July .... 


PAGE 

220 

223 

224 
226 
229 
231 
233 
235 
238 
240 
243 
245 
250 
253 

255 

256 
258 
260 
262 






















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' 








. 
















































































































LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FACING 

PAGE 

“ Brer Rabbit ain’t see no peace w’atsumever ” Frontispiece 
“ Ef you don’t lemme loose I’ll knock you agin ! ” . . 9 

“ En den he tu’n loose, he did ”.32 

“ You feels de fleas a bitin’, Brer Wolf.” .... 68 

“Run yer, Brer Wolf! Yo’ cow gwine in de groun’ ”, . 102 

“ Hit ’im in de mouf, Brer Fox! ”.113 

“ He try ter walk off wid Brer Tarrypin ” 128 

“Yer come a great big black wolf”.155 

The corn-shucking.185 

“ En wadder you speck I see?”.211 

“An’ I sot down an’ wrop myse’f roun’ de whole blessid 

chunk”.251 
































LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION 





















































X 



































UNCLE REMUS INITIATES THE LITTLE BOY. 

One even¬ 
ing recently, 
the lady whom 
Uncle Remus 
calls “ Miss 
Sally” missed 
her little sev¬ 
en - year - old 
boy. Making 
search for 

him through the house and 
through the yard, she heard 
the sound of voices in the 
old man’s cabin, and, look¬ 
ing through the window, 
saw the child sitting by 
Uncle Remus. His head 
rested against the old man’s 
arm, and he was gazing with an expression of the 
most intense interest into the rough, weather-beaten 



.•»*W 



4 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

face, that beamed so kindly upon him. This is what 
44 Miss Sally ” heard : 

“ Bimeby, one day, arter Brer Fox bin doin’ all dat 
he could fer ter ketch Brer Rabbit, en Brer Rabbit bin 
doin’ all he could fer to keep ’im fum it, Brer Fox say 
to hisse’f dat he’d put up a game on Brer Rabbit, en 
he ain’t mo’n got de wuds out’n his mouf twel Brer 
Rabbit come a lopin’ up de big road, lookin’ des ez 
plump, en ez fat, en ez sassy ez a Moggin hoss in a 
barley-patch. 

“ 4 Hoi’ on dar, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, 
sezee. 

“‘I ain’t got time, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, 
sezee, sorter mendin’ his licks. 

“ 4 1 wanter have some confab wid you, Brer Rab¬ 
bit,’ sez Brer Foz, sezee. 

44 4 All right, Brer Fox, but you better holler fum 
whar you stan’. I’m monstus full er fleas dis mawnin’,’ 
sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 

44 4 1 seed Brer B’ar yistiddy,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, 

4 en he sorter rake me over de coals kaze you en me 
ain’t make frens en live naberly, en I told ’im dat I’d 
see you.’ 

44 Den Brer Rabbit scratch one year wid his off 
hinefoot sorter jub’usly, en den he ups en sez, sezee: 

44 4 All a settin’, Brer Fox. Spose’n you drap roun’ 
ter-morrer en take dinner wid me. We ain’t got no 
great doin’s at our house, but I speck de old ’oman en 


UNCLE REMUS INITIATES THE LITTLE BOY. 5 

de chilluns kin sorter scramble roun’ en git up sump’n 
fer ter stay yo’ stummuck.’ 

“ ‘ I’m ’gree’ble, Brer Babbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ ‘ Den I’ll ’pen’ on you,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee. 

“ Hex’ day, Mr. Babbit an’ Miss Babbit got up 
soon, .’fo’ day, en raided on a gyarden like Miss Sally’s 
out dar, en got some cabbiges, en some roas’n years, en 
some sparrer-grass, en dey fix up a smashin’ dinner. 
Bimeby one er de little Babbits, playin’ out in de back¬ 
yard, come runnin’ in hollerin’, ‘ Oh, ma! oh, ma! I 
seed Mr. Fox a cornin’!’ En den Brer Babbit he 
tuck de chilluns by der years en make um set down, en 
den him and Miss Babbit sorter dally roun’ waitin’ for 
Brer Fox. En dey keep on waitin’, but no Brer Fox 
ain’t come. Atter ’while Brer Babbit goes to de do’, 
easy like, en peep out, en dar, stickin’ fum behime 
de cornder, wuz de tip-een’ er Brer Fox tail. Den Brer 
Babbit shot de do’ en sot down, en put his paws behime 
his years en begin fer ter sing: 

« ‘ De place wharbouts you spill de grease, 

Right dar youer boun’ ter slide, 

An’ whar you fine a bunch er ha’r, 

You’ll sholy fine de hide.’ 

“ Hex’ day, Brer Fox sont word by Mr. Mink, e* 
skuze hisse’f kaze he wuz too sick fer ter come, en he 
ax Brer Babbit fer to come en take dinner wid him, en 
Brer Babbit say he wuz ’gree’ble. 


6 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ Bimeby, w’en de sliadders wuz at der shortes’, 
Brer Rabbit he sorter brush up en santer down ter Brer 
Fox’s house, en w’en he got dar, he hear somebody 
groanin’, en he look in de do’ en dar he see Brer Fox 
settin’ up in a rockin’ cheer all wrop up wid flannil, en 
he look mighty weak. Brer Rabbit look all ’roun’, he 
did, but he ain’t see no dinner. De dish-pan wuz set- 
tin’ on de table, en close by wuz a kyarvin’ knife. 



“ ‘ Look like you gwineter have chicken fer dinner, 
Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 

“ Yes, Brer Rabbit, deyer nice, en fresh, en tender,’ 
sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ Den Brer Rabbit sorter pull his mustarsh, en say: 
‘You ain’t got no calamus root, is you, Brer Fox? I 
done got so now dat I can’t eat no chicken ’ceppin she’s 












THE WONDERFUL TAR-BABY STORY. 7 

seasoned up wid calamus root.’ En wid dat Brer Rab¬ 
bit lipt out er de do’ and dodge ’mong de bushes, en 
sot dar watchin’ fer Brer Fox; en he ain’t watch long, 
nudder, kaze Brer Fox flung off de flannil en crope out 
er de house en got whar he could cloze in on Brer 
Rabbit, en bimeby Brer Rabbit holler out: ‘ Oh, Brer 
Fox! I’ll des put yo’ calamus root out yer on dish yer 
stump. Better come git it while hit’s fresh,’ and wid 
dat Brer Rabbit gallop off home. En Brer Fox ain’t 
never kotch ’im yit, en w’at’s mo’, honey, he ain’t 
gwineter.” 


THE WONDERFUL TAR-BABY STORY. 

“ Didn’t the fox never catch the rabbit, Uncle 
Remus ? ” asked the little boy the next evening. 

“ He come mighty nigh it, honey, sho’s you born— 
Brer Fox did. One day)atter Brer Rabbit fool r im wid 
dat calamus root, Brer: Fox went ter wuk en got ’im 
some tar, en mix it wid some turkentime, en fix up a 
contrapshun wat he call a Tar-Baby, en he tuck dish 
yer Tar-Baby en he sot ’er in de big road, en den he lay 
off in de bushes fer to see wat de news wuz gwineter 
be. En he didn’t hatter wait long, nudder, kaze bimeby 
here come Brer Rabbit pacin’ down de road—lippity- 
clippity, clippity-lippity—dez ez sassy ez a jay-bird. 
Brer Fox, he lay low. Brer Rabbit come prancin’ ’long 


8 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


twel he spy de Tar-Baby, en den he fotch up on his be- 
hime legs like he wuz ’stonished. De Tar-Baby, she 
sot dar, she did, en Brer Fox, he lay low. 



“ < Mawnin’! ’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee—‘ nice wedder 
dis mawnin’,’ sezee. 

“ Tar-Baby ain’t sayin’ nothin’, en Brer Fox, he lay 
low. 

“ ‘ How duz yo’ sym’tum s seem ter segashuate ? ’ sez 
Brer Babbit, sezee. 

“ Brer Fox, he wink his eye slow, en lay low, en de 
Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nothin’. 

“ ‘ How you come on, den ? Is you deaf ? ’ sez Brer 
Babbit, sezee. ‘ Kaze if you is, I kin holler louder,’ 


sezee. 



THE WONDERFUL TAR-BABY STORY. 


9 


u Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low. 

“‘Youer stuck ud. flat’s w’at von is ’ sn vs 
Babbit, sezee, ‘en 
I’m gwineter 
kyore you, dat’s 
w’at I’m a gwine¬ 
ter do,’ sezee. 

“ Brer Fox, he 
sorter chuckle in 
his stummuck, he 
did, but Tar-Baby 
ain’t sayin’ noth¬ 
in’. 

“‘ I’m gwine¬ 
ter larn you how- 
ter talk ter ’spect- 
tubble fokes ef hit’s de las’ ack,’ sez Brer Babbit, 
sezee. ‘Ef you don’t take off dat hat en tell me 
howdy, I’m gwineter bus’ you wide open,’ sezee. 

Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low. 

“ Brer Babbit keep on axin’ ’im, en de Tar-Baby, 
she keep on sayin’ nothin’, twel present’y Brer Babbit 
draw back wid his fis’, he did, en blip he tuck ’er side 
er de head. Bight dar’s whar he broke his merlasses 
jug. His fis’ stuck, en he can’t pull loose. De tar hilt 
im. But Tar-Baby, she stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay 
low. 

“ ‘ Ef you don’t lemme loose, I’ll knock you agin,’ 
3 


j — —? —j ~ 





'/ g IT 


10 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


sez Brer Babbit, sezee, en wid dat he fotch ’er a wipe 
wid de udder ban’, en dat stuck. Tar-Baby, she ain’t 
sayin’ nothin’, en Brer Fox, he lay low. 

“ i Tu’n me loose, fo’ I kick de natal stuffin’ outen 
you,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby, she ain’t 
sayin’ nothin’. She des hilt on, en den Brer Babbit 



lose de use er his feet in de same way. Brer Fox, he 
lay low. Den Brer Babbit squall out dat ef de Tar- 
Baby don’t tu’n ’im loose he butt ’er cranksided. En 
den he butted, en his head got stuck. Den Brer Fox, 
he sa’ntered fort’, lookin’ des ez innercent ez one er 
yo’ mammy’s mockin’-birds. 

“ 4 Howdy, Brer Babbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘ You 


WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE. 


11 


look sorter stuck up dis mawnin’,’ sezee, en den he 
rolled on de groun’, en laughed en laughed twel he 
couldn’t laugh no mo’5^*Yi^ec]i you’ll take dinner 
wid me dis time, Brer Rabbit. I done laid in some 
calamus root, en I ain’t gwineter take no skuse,’ sez 
Brer Fox, 6ezee.” 

Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound 
yam out of the ashes. 

“ Hid the fox eat the rabbit ? ” asked the little boy 
to whom the story had been told. . 

“ Hat’s all de fur de tale goes,” replied the old man. * 
“ He mout, en den agin he moutent. Some say Jedge 
B’ar come ’long en loosed ’im—some say he didn’t. I 
hear Miss Sally callin’. You better run ’long.” 


hi. 

WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE. 

“ One night,” said Uncle Remus—taking Miss Sal¬ 
ly’s little boy on his knee, and stroking the child’s hair 
thoughtfully and caressingly—“ one night Brer Possum 
call by fer Brer Coon, ’cordin’ ter greement, en atter 
gobblin’ up a dish er fried greens en smokin’ a seegyar, 
dey rambled fort’ fer ter see how de ballanee er de set¬ 
tlement wuz gittin’ ’long. Brer Coon, he wuz one er 
deze yer natchul pacers, en he racked ’long same ez 


12 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

Mars John’s bay pony, en Brer Possum he went in a 
han’-gallup; en dey got over heap er groun’, mon. 
Brer Possum, he got his belly full er ’simmons, en Brer 
Coon, he scoop up a ’bunnunce er frogs en tadpoles. 
Dey amble ’long, dey did, des ez sociable ez a basket er 
kittens, twel bimeby dey hear Mr. Dog talkin’ ter hisse’f 
way oif in de woods. » 

“ ‘ Spozen he runs up on us, Brer Possum, w’at you 
gwineter do ? ’ sez Brer Coon, sezee. Brer Possum 
sorter laugh ’round de cornders un his mouf. 

“ ‘ Oh, ef he come, Brer Coon, I’m gwineter stan’ 
by you/ sez Brer Possum. ‘ W’at you gwineter do?’ 
sezee. 

Who? me?’ sez Brer Coon. ‘ Ef he run up onter 
me, I lay I give ’im one twis’,’ sezee.” 

“ Did the dog come ? ” asked the little boy. 

“Go ’way, honey!” responded the old man, in an 
impressive tone. “ Go way ! Mr. Dog, he come en he 
come a zoonin’. En he ain’t wait fer ter say howdy, 
nudder. He des sail inter de two un um. De ve’y fus 
pas he make Brer Possum fetch a grin fum year ter 
year, en keel over like he wuz dead. Den Mr. Dog, he 
sail inter Brer Coon, en right dar’s whar he drap his 
money purse, kaze Brer Coon wuz cut oat fer dat 
kinder bizness, en he fa’rly wipe up de face er de yeth 
wid ’im. You better b’leeve dat w’en Mr. Dog got a 
chance to make hisse’f skase he tuck it, en w’at der 
wuz lef’ un him went skaddlin’ thoo de woods like hit 


WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE. 


13 


wuz shot outen a muskit. En Brer Coon, he sorter 
lick his cloze inter shape en rack off, en Brer Possum, 

he lay dar like he 
wuz dead, twel 
bimeby he raise up 



sorter keerful like, en 
w’en he fine de coas’ 
cle’r he scramble up en 
scamper off like sumpin was atter ’im.” 

Here Uncle Remus paused long enough to pick up 
a live coal of fire in his fingers, transfer it to the palm 
of his hand, and thence to his clay pipe, which he had 
been filling—a proceeding that was viewed by the little 
boy with undisguised admiration. The old man then 
proceeded : 











14 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ Hex’ time Brer Possum met Brer Coon, Brer 
Coon ’fuse ter ’spon’ ter his howdy, en dis make Brer 
Possum feel mighty bad, seein’ ez how dey useter make 
so many ’scurshuns tergedder. 

“ 4 W’at make you hoi’ yo’ head so high, Brer Coon ? ’ 
sez Brer Possum, sezee. 

“ 4 1 ain’t runnin’ wid cowerds deze days,’ sez Brer 
Coon. 4 W’en I wants you I’ll sen’ fer you,’ sezee. 

44 Den Brer Possum git mighty mad. 

44 4 Who’s enny cowerd ? ’ sezee. 

44 4 You is,’ sez Brer Coon, 4 dat’s who. I ain’t so- 
shatin’ wid dem w’at lays down on de groun’ en plays 
dead w’en dar’s a free light gwine on,’ sezee. 

44 Den Brer Possum grin en laugh fit to kill hisse’f. 

44 4 Lor’, Brer Coon, you don’t speck I done dat kaze 
I wuz ’feared, duz you ? ’ sezee. 4 W’y I want no mo’ 
’feared dan you is dis minnit. W’at wuz dey fer ter be 
skeered un ? ’ sezee. 4 1 know’d you’d git away wid 
Mr. Dog ef I didn’t, en I des lay dar watchin’ you 
shake him, waitin’ fer ter put in w’en de time come,’ 
sezee. 

44 Brer Coon tu’n up his nose. 

44 4 Dat’s a mighty likely tale,’ sezee, 4 w’en Mr. Dog 
ain’t mo’n tech you ’fo’ you keel over, en lay dar stiff,’ 
sezee. 


44 4 Dat’s des w’at I wuz gwineter tell you ’bout,’ sez 
Brer Possum, sezee. 4 1 want no mo’ skeer’d dan you 
is right now, en’ I wuz fixin’ fer ter give Mr. Dog a 


WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE. 


15 


sample er my jaw,’ sezee, ‘ but I’m de most ticklish 
chap w’at you ever laid eyes on, en no sooner did Mr. 
Dog put his 
nose down yer 
’mong my ribs 
dan I got ter 
laughin’, en I 
laughed twel I 
ain’t had no use 
er my lim’s,’ 
sezee, ‘ en it’s a 
mussy unto Mr. 

Dog dat I 
wuz tick¬ 
lish, kaze 

a little mo’ ^n I’d e’t ’im up,’ sezee. 



I don’t mine 


fightin’, Bi. Coon, no mo’ dan you duz,’ sezee, ‘ but 
I declar’ ter grashus ef I kin stan’ ticklin’. Git me 
in a row whar dey ain’t no ticklin’ ’lowed, en I’m 
your man,’ sezee. 

“ En down ter dis day ”—continued Uncle Remus, 
watching the smoke from his pipe curl upward over 
the little boy’s head—“ down ter dis day, Brer Pos¬ 
sum’s bound ter s’render w’en you tech him in de short 
ribs, en he’ll laugh ef he knows he’s gwineter be 
smashed fer it.” 


16 


LEGENDS OE THE OLD PLANTATION. 


IV. 


SOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX. 

“ Uncle Bemus,” said the little boy one evening, 
when he had found the old man with little or nothing 
to do, “did the fox kill and eat the rabbit when he 
caught him with the Tar-Baby 

“ Law, honey, ain’t I tell you ’bout dat ? ” replied 
the old darkey, chuckling slyly. “ I ’clar ter grashus 
I ought er tole you dat, but old man Nod wuz ridin’ on 
my eyeleds ’twel a leetle mo’n I’d a dis’member’d my 
own name, en den on to dat here come yo’ mammy hol¬ 
lerin’ atter you. 

“ W’at I tell you w’en I fus’ begin ? I tole you 
Brer Babbit wuz a monstus soon creetur; leas’ways 
dat’s w’at I laid out fer ter tell you. Well, den, honey, 
don’t you go en make no udder calkalashuns, kaze in 
dem days Brer Babbit en his fambly wuz at de head 
er de gang w’en enny racket wuz on han’, en dar dey 
stayed. ’Fo’ you begins fer ter wipe yo’ eyes ’bout 
Brer Babbit, you wait en see whar’bouts Brer Babbit 
gwineter fetch up at. But dat’s needer yer ner dar. 

“W’en Brer Fox fine Brer Babbit mixt up wid de 
Tar-Baby, he feel mighty good, en he roll on de groun’ 
en laff. Bimeby he up’n say, sezee : 

“‘Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Babbit, 
sezee; ‘maybe I ain’t, but I speck I is. You been run- 


HOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX. 17 

nin’ roun’ here sassin’ atter me a mighty long time, but 
I speck you done come ter de een’ er de row. You bin 
cuttin’ up yo’ capers en bouncin’ ’roun’ in dis neighbor¬ 
hood ontwel you come ter b’leeve yo’se’f de boss er de 
whole gang. En den youer allers some’rs whar you got 



no bizness,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘ Who ax you fer ter 
come en strike up a ’quaintance wid dish yer Tar-Baby ? 
En who stuck you up dar whar you iz ? Nobody in de 
roun’ worril. You des tuck en jam yo’se’f on dat Tar- 
Baby widout waitin’ fer enny invite,’ sez Brer Fox, 
sezee, ‘ en dar you is, en dar you’ll stay twel I fixes up 
a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze I’m gwineter bobby- 
cue you dis day, sho,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ Den Brer Rabbit talk mighty ’umble. 


18 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


«‘ I don’t keer w’at you do wid me, Brer Fox,’ 
sezee, ‘ so you don't fling me in dat brier-patch. Boas’ 
me, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘ but don’t fling me in dat brier- 
patch,’ sezee. 

“ 4 Hit’s so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier,’ sez 
Brer Fox, sezee, 4 dat I speck I’ll hatter hang you, 
sezee. 

44 4 Hang me des ez high as you please, Brer Fox,’ 
sez Brer Babbit, sezee, 4 but do fer de Lord’s sake don’t 
fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee. 

44 4 1 ain’t got no string,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, 4 en 
now I speck I’ll hatter drown you,’ sezee. 

44 4 Drown me des ez deep ez you please, Brer Fox,’ 
sez Brer Babbit, sezee, 4 but do don’t fling me in dat 
brier-patch,’ sezee. 

44 4 Dey ain’t no water nigh,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, 

4 en now I speck I’ll hatter skin you,’ sezee. 

44 4 Skin me, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee, 

4 snatch out my eyeballs, t’ar out my years by de roots, 
en cut off my legs,’ sezee, 4 but do please, Brer Fox, 
don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee. 

44 Co’se Brer Fox wan ter hurt Brer Babbit bad ez 
he kin, so he cotch ’im by de behime legs en slung ’im 
right in de middle er de brier-patch. Dar wuz a con- 
siderbul flutter whar Brer Babbit struck de bushes, en 
Brer Fox sorter hang ’roun’ fer ter see w’at wuz gwine- 
ter happen. Bimeby he hear somebody call ’im, en way 
up de hill he see Brer Babbit settin’ cross-legged on a 


HOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX. 19 

chinkapin log koamin’ de pitch outen his har wid a 
chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop oft mighty 



bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some 
er his sass, en he holler out: 

“ ‘ Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox_bred 

en bawn in a brier-patch! ’ en wid dat he skip out des 
ez lively ez a cricket in de embers.” 



20 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


y. 

THE STORY OF THE DELUGE AND HOW IT CAME 
ABOUT. 

“ One time,” said Uncle Kemus—adjusting his spec¬ 
tacles so as to be able to see how to thread a large darn¬ 
ing-needle with which he was patching his coat—“ one 
time, way back yander, ’fo’ you wuz borned, honey, en 
’fo’ Mars John er Miss Sally wuz borned—way back 
yander fo enny un us wuz borned, de anemils en de 
creeturs sorter ’lecshuneer roun’ ’mong deyselves, twel 
at las’ dey ’greed fer ter have a ’sembly. In dem days,” 
continued the old man, observing a look of incredulity 



on the little boy’s face, “in dem days creeturs had lots 
mo’ sense dan dey got now; let ’lone dat, dey had sense 



21 


the story of the deluge. 

same like folks. Hit was tech en go wid um, too, mon, 
en w’en dey make up der mines w’at hatter begone, 
’twant mo’n menshun’d ’fo’ hit wuz done. t^Well, dey 
’lected dat dey hatter hole er ’sembly fer ter sorter 
straighten out marters en hear de complaints, en w’en 
de day come dey wuz on han’. De Lion, he wuz dar, 
kase he wuz de king, en he hatter be dar. De Rhynos- 
syhoss, he wuz dar, en de Elephent, he wuz dar, en de 
Cammils, en de Cows, en plum down ter de Crawfishes, 
dey wuz dar. Dey wuz all dar. En w’en de Lion 
shuck his mane, en tuck his seat in de big cheer, den 
de sessliun begun fer ter commence.” 

“ What did they do, Uncle Bern us ? ” asked the little 
boy. 

I can’t skacely call to mine ’zackly w’at dey did 
do, but dey spoke speeches, en hollered, en cusst, en 
flung der langwidge ’roun’ des like w’en yo’ daddy wuz 
gwineter run fer de legislater en got lef’. Howsomever, 
dey ’ranged der ’fairs, en splained der bizness. Bimeby, 
w’ile dey wuz ’sputin’ ’longer one er nudder, de Ele¬ 
phent troinpled on one er de Crawfishes. Co’se w’en 
dat creetur put his foot down, w’atsuraever’s under dar 
wuz boun’ fer ter be squshed, en dey wa’n’t nuff er dat 
Crawfish lef’ fer ter tel] dat he’d bin dar. 

Dis make de udder Crawfishes mighty mad, en 
dey sorter swarmed tergedder en draw’d up a kinder 
peramble wid some wharfo’es in it, en read her out in 
de ’sembly. But, bless grashus! sech a racket wuz a 


22 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


gwine on dat nobody ain’t hear it, ’ceppin may be de 
Mud Turkle en de Spring Lizzud, en dere enfloons wuz 
pow’ful lackin’. 

“ Bimeby, w’iles de Nunicorn wuz ’sputin’ wid de 
Lion, en w’ile de Hyener wuz a laughin’ ter hisse’f, de 
Elephent squshed anudder one er de Crawfishes, en a 
little mo’n he’d er ruint de Mud Turkle. Den de Craw¬ 
fishes, w’at dey wuz lef’ un um, swarmed tergedder en 
draw’d up anudder peramble wid sum mo’ wharfo’es; 
but dey might ez well er sung Ole Dan Tucker ter a 
harrycane. De udder creeturs wuz too busy wid der 
fussin’ fer ter ’spon’ unto de Crawfishes. So dar dey 
wuz, de Crawfishes, en dey didn’t know w’at minnit 
wuz gwineter be de nex’; en dey kep’ on gittin madder 
en madder en skeerder en skeerder, twel bimeby dey 
gun de wink ter de Mud Turkle en de Spring Lizzud, 
en den dey bo’d little holes in de groun’ en went down 
outer sight.” 

“ Who did, Uncle Remus ? ” asked the little 
boy. 

“ De Crawfishes, honey. Dey bo’d inter de groun’ 
en kep’ on bo’in twel dey onloost de fountains er de 
earf; en de waters squirt out, en riz higher en higher 
twel de hills wuz kivvered, en de creeturs wuz all 
drownded; en all bekaze dey let on ’mong deyselves 
dat dey wuz bigger dan de Crawfishes.” 

Then the old man blew the ashes from a smoking 
yam, and proceeded to remove the peeling. 


THE STORY OF THE DELUGE. 


Where was the ark, Uncle Remus ?” the little boy 
inquired, presently. 



W ich ark’s dat ? ” asked the old man, in a tone of 
well-feigned curiosity. 

“Noah’s ark,” replied the child. 

“Don’t you pester wid ole man Noah, honey. I 
boun’ he tuck keer er dat ark. Dat’s w’at he wuz dar 
fer, en dat’s w’at he done. Leas’ways, dat’s w’at dey 
tells me. But don’t you bodder longer dat ark, ’ceppin’ 
your mammy fetches it up. Dey mout er bin two 
deloojes, en den agin dey moutent. Ef dey wuz enny 
ark in dish yer w’at de Crawfishes brung on, I ain’t 
heern tell un it, en w’en dey ain’t no arks ’roun’, I ain’t 
got no time fer ter make urn en put urn in dar. Hit’s 
gittin’ yo’ bedtime, honey.” 












24 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


VI. 

MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX . 

One evening when the little boy, whose nights with 
Uncle Remus were as entertaining as those Arabian 
ones of blessed memory, had finished supper and hur¬ 
ried out to sit with his venerable patron, he found the 
old man in great glee. Indeed, Uncle Remus was talk¬ 
ing and laughing to himself at such a rate that the little 
boy was afraid he had company. The truth is, Uncle 
Remus had heard the child coming, and, when the rosy- 
cheeked chap put his head in at the door, was engaged 
in a monologue, the burden of which seemed to be— 

“ Ole Molly Har\ 

W’at you doin’ .dar, 

Settin’ in de cornder 
Smokin’ yo’ seegyar?” 

As a matter of course this vague allusion reminded 
the little boy of the fact that the wicked Fox was still 
in pursuit of the Rabbit, and he immediately put his 
curiosity in the shape of a question. 

“ Uncle Remus, did the Rabbit have to go clean 
away when he got loose from the Tar-Baby ? ” 

“ Bless gracious, honey, dat he didn’t. Who ? 
Him? You dunno nuthin’ ’tall ’bout Brer Rabbit ef 
dat’s de way you puttin’ ’im down. W’at he gwine 
’way fer? He mougliter stayed sorter close twel de 


MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX. 25 

pitch rub off’n his ha’r, but twern’t menny days ’fo’ he 
wuz lopin’ up en down de neighborhood same ez ever, 
en I dunno ef he wern’t mo’ sassier dan befo’. 

“ Seem like dat de tale ’bout how he got mixt 
up wid de Tar-Baby got ’roun’ ’mongst de nabers. 
Leas’ways, Miss Meadows en de gals got win’ un’ it, en 
de nex’ time Brer Babbit paid um a visit Miss Meadows 
tackled ’im ’bout it, eh de gals sot up a monstus giggle- 
ment. Brer Babbit, he sot up des ez cool ez a cow- 
cumber, he did, en let ’em run on.” 

“Who was Miss Meadows, Uncle Bemus?” in¬ 
quired the little boy. 

“Don’t ax me, honey. She wuz in de tale, Miss 
Meadows en de gals wuz, en de tale I give you like hi’t 
wer’ gun ter me. Brer Babbit, he sot dar, he did, 
sorter lam’ like, en den bimeby he cross his legs, he 
did, and wink his eye slow, en up and say, sezee: 

Ladies, Brer Fox wuz my daddy’s ridin’-hoss fer 
thirty year; maybe mo’, but thirty year dat I knows 
un, sezee; en den he paid um his ’specks, en tip his 
beaver, en march off, he did, des ez stiff en ez stuck up 
ez a fire-stick. 

“Bex’ day, Brer Fox cum a callin’, and w’en he 
gun fer ter laugh ’bout Brer Babbit, Miss Meadows en 
de gals, dey ups en tells ’im ’bout w’at Brer Babbit say. 
Den Brer Fox grit his tushes sho’ huff, he did, en he 
look mighty dumpy, but w’en he riz fer ter go he up 

en say, sezee: 

4 


26 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ ( Ladies, I ain’t ’sputin’ w’at yon say, but I’ll 
make Brer Rabbit chaw up his words en spit um out 
right yer whar you kin see ’im,’ sezee, en wid 
dat off Brer Fox put. 

En w’en he got in de big road, 
he shuck de dew off’n his tail, en 
made a straight shoot fer 
Brer Rabbit’s house. W’en 
he got dar, Brer Rabbit 
wuz spectin’ un ’im, en de 
do’ wuz shet fas’. Brer 
Fox knock. Nobody ain't 
ans’er. Brer Fox knock. 
Nobody ans’er. Den 
he knock agin—blam ! 
blam ! Den Brer Rab¬ 
bit holler out mighty 
weak: 

“ ‘ Is dat you, Brer 
_ Fox ? I want 
you ter run en 
fetch de doctor. 
Dat bait er pusly 
w’at I e’t dis 
inawnin’ is gittin’ 

’way wid me. Do, please, Brer Fox, run quick,’ sez 
Brer Rabbit, sezee. 

“ 4 1 come atter you, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, 





























MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX. 27 

sezee. 6 Dar’s gwineter be a party up at Miss Mead¬ 
ows’s,’ sezee. ‘ All de gals ’ll be dere, en I promus’ dat 
I’d fetch you. De gals, dey ’lowed dat hit wouldn’t be 
no party ’ceppin’ I fotch you,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ Den Brer Babbit say he wuz too sick, en Brer 
Fox say he wuzzent, en dar dey had it up and down, 
’sputin’ en contendin’. Brer Babbit say he can’t walk. 
Brer Fox say he tote ’im. Brer Babbit say how ? 
Brer Fox say in his arms. Brer Babbit say he drap 
’im. Brer Fox ’low he won’t. Bimeby Brer Babbit 
say he go ef Brer Fox tote ’im on his back. Brer Fox 
say he would. Brer Babbit say he can’t ride widout a 
saddle. Brer Fox say he git de saddle. Brer Babbit 
say he can’t set in saddle less he have bridle fer ter hoi’ 
by. Brer Fox say he git de bridle. Brer Babbit say 
he can’t ride widout bline bridle, kaze Brer Fox be 
shyin’ at stumps ’long de road, en fling ’im off. Brer 
Fox say he git bline bridle. Den Brer Babbit say he 
go. Den Brer Fox say he ride Brer Babbit mos’ up 
ter Miss Meadows’s, fn den he could git down en walk 
de balance er de way. Brer Babbit ’greed, en den 
Brer Fox lipt out atter de saddle en de bridle. 

“ Co’se Brer Babbit know de game dat Brer Fox 
wuz fixin’ fer ter play, en he ’termin’ fer ter outdo ’im, 
en by de time he koam his ha’r en twis’ his mustarsh, 
en sorter rig up, yer come Brer Fox, saddle en bridle 
on, en lookin’ ez peart ez a circus pony. He trot up 
ter de do’ en stan’ dar pawin’ de ground en chompin’ 


28 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


de bit same like sho ’miff hoss, en Brer Babbit he 
mount, he did, en dey amble off. Brer Fox can’t see 
beliime wid de bline bridle on, but bimeby he feel Brer 
Babbit raise one er his foots. 

44 4 W’at you doin’ now, Brer Babbit ? ’ sezee. 



“ 4 Short’nin’ de lef stir’p, Brer Fox,’ sezee. 

“ Bimeby Brer Babbit raise up de udder foot. 

44 4 W’at you doin’ now, Brer Babbit ? ’ sezee. 

44 4 Pullin’ down my pants, Brer Fox,’ sezee. 

44 All de time, bless grashus, honey, Brer Babbit 
wer puttin’ on his spurrers, en w’en dey got close to 
Miss Meadows’s, whar Brer Babbit wuz to git off, en 


MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX. 29 

Brer Fox made a motion fer ter stan’ still, Brer Babbit 
slap de spurrers inter Brer Fox flanks, en you better 
b’leeve lie got over groun’. W’en dey got ter de house, 
Miss Meadows en all de gals wuz settin’ on de peazzer, 
en stidder stoppin’ at de gate, Brer Babbit rid on by, 
he did, en den come gallopin’ down de road en up ter 
de hoss-rack, w’ich he hitch Brer Fox at, en den he 
santer inter de house, he did, en shake han’s wid de 
gals, en set dar, smokin’ his seegyar same ez a town 
man. Bimeby he draw in a long puff, en den let hit out 
in a cloud, en squar hisse’f back en holler out, he did: 

Ladies, ain’t I done tell you Brer Fox wuz de 
ridin’-lioss fer our fambly? He sorter losin’ his gait 
now, but I speck I kin fetch ’im all right in a mont’ 
er so,’ sezee. 

“ En den Brer Babbit sorter grin, he did, en de gals 
giggle, en Miss Meadows, she praise up de pony, en 
dar wuz Brer Fox hitch fas’ ter de rack, en couldn’t 
he’p hisse’f.” 

“ Is that all, Uncle Bernus ? ” asked the little boy 
as the old man paused. 

“ Dat ain’t all, honey, but ’twon’t do fer ter give 
out too much cloff fer ter cut one pa’r pants,” replied 
the old man sententiously. 


30 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


VII. 

MR. FOX IS AGAIN VICTIMIZED. 

When “Miss Sally’s” little boy went to Uncle 
Remus the next niglit to hear the conclusion of the 
adventure in which the Rabbit made a riding-horse of 
the Fox to the great enjoyment and gratification of 
Miss Meadows and the girls, he found the old man in 
a bad humor. 

“ I ain’t tellin’ no tales ter bad chilluns,” said Uncle 
Remus curtly. 

“But, Uncle Remus, I ain’t bad,” said the little 
boy plaintively. 

“ Who dat chunkin’ dem chickens dis mawnin’ ? 
Who dat knockin’ out fokes’s eyes wid dat Yallerbam- 
mer sling des ’fo’ dinner ? Who dat sickin’ dat pinter 
puppy atter my pig? Who dat scatterin’ my ingun 
sets ? Who dat hingin’ rocks on top er my house, 
w’ich a little mo’ en one un em would er drap spang 
on my head ? ” 

“Well, now, Uncle Remus, I didn’t go to do it. I 
won’t do so any more. Please, Uncle Remus, if you 
will tell me, I’ll run to the house and bring you some 
tea-cakes.” 

“ Seein’ urn’s better’n hearin’ tell un nm,” replied 
the old man, the severity of his countenance relaxing 
somewhat; but the little boy darted out, and in a few 


MR. FOX IS AGAIN VICTIMIZED. 


31 


minutes came running back with his pockets full and 
his hands full. 

“I lay yo’ mammy ’ll ’spishun dat de rats’ stum- 
mucks is widenin’ in dis neighborhood w’en she come 
fer ter count up ’er cakes,” said Uncle Remus, with a 
chuckle. “Deze,” he continued, dividing the cakes 
into two equal parts—“ dese I’ll tackle now, en dese 
I’ll lay by fer Sunday. 

“ Lemme see. I mos’ dis'member wharbouts Brer 
Fox en Brer Rabbit wuz.” 

“ The rabbit rode the fox to Miss Meadows’s, and 
hitched him to the horse-rack,” said the little boy. 

“ W’y co’se he did,” said Uncle Remus. “ Co’se he 
did. Well, Brer Rabbit rid Brer Fox up, he did, en 
tied ’im to de rack, 
en den sot out in 
de peazzer wid de 
gals a smokin’ er 
his seegyar wid 
mo’ proudness dan 
w’at you mos’ ever 
see. Dey talk, en 
dey sing, en dey 
play on de pean- 
ner, de gals did, 
twel bimeby hit 
come time fer Brer Babbit fer to be gwine, en he 
tell um all good-by, en strut out to de lioss-rack same’s 






32 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


ef he wuz de king er de patter-rollers,* en den lie 
mount Brer Fox en ride off. 

“ Brer Fox ain’t sayin’ nutliin’ ’tall. He des rack 
off, he did, en keep his mouf shet, en Brer Babbit 
know’d der wuz bizness cookin’ up fer him, en he 
feel monstus skittish. Brer Fox amble on twel he git 
in de long lane, outer sight er Miss Meadows’s house, 
en den he tu’n loose, he did. He rip en he r’ar, en he 
cuss, en he swar; he snort en he cavort.” 

“What was he doing that for, Uncle Bemus?” the 
little boy inquired. 

“ He wuz tryin’ fer ter fling Brer Babbit off’n his 
back, bless yo’ soul! But he des might ez well er 
rastle wid his own shadder. Every time he hump 
hisse’f Brer Babbit slap de 6purrers in ’im, en dar 
dey had it, up en down. Brer Fox fa’rly to’ up de 
groun’ he did, en he jump so high en he jump so 
quick dat he mighty nigh snatch his own tail off. 
Dey kep’ on gwine on dis way twel bimeby Brer Fox 
lay down qn roll over, he did, en dis sorter onsettle 
Brer Babbit, but by de time Brer Fox got back on his 
footses agin, Brer Babbit wuz gwine thoo de under- 
bresh mo’ samer dan a race-hoss. Brer Fox he lit out 

* Patrols. In the country districts, order was kept on the plan¬ 
tations at night by the knowledge that they were liable to be visited 
at any moment by the patrols. Hence a song current among the 
negroes, the chorus of which was: 

“ Run, nigger, run; patter-roller ketch you— 

Run, nigger, run; hit’s almos’ day.” 




“ En den he tu’n loose, he did.” 







MR. FOX IS AGAIN VICTIMIZED. 


33 


atter ’im, be did, en he push Brer Babbit so close 
dat it wuz ’bout all he could do fer ter git in a 
holler tree. Hole too little fer Brer Fox fer 
: ter git in, en he hatter lay down 

en res’ en gedder his mine terged- 
der. 

“While he wuz layin’ dar, 
Mr. Buzzard come floppin’ 
’long, en seein’ Brer Fox 
stretch out on de groun’, 
he lit en yiew de pre< 
musses. Den Mr. Buz 
zard sorter shake his wing, 
en put his head on one side, 
en say to liisse’f like, sezee: 

‘ Brer Fox dead, en I so sor^ 
ry,’ sezee. 

“‘No I ain’t dead, nudder,’ 
sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘I 
got ole man 
Babbit pent 
up in yer,’ 
sezee, ‘ en 
I’m a gwine- 











34 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


ter git ’im dis time ef it take twel Chris’mus,’ 
sezee. 

“Den, atter some mo’ palaver, Brer Fox make a 
bargain dat Mr. Buzzard wuz ter watch de hole, en 
keep Brer Babbit dar wiles Brer Fox went atter his 
axe. Den Brer Fox, he lope off, he did, en Mr. Buz¬ 
zard, he tuck up his stan’ at de hole. Bimeby, w’en 
all git still, Brer Babbit sorter scramble down close ter 
de hole, he did, en holler out: 

“ ‘ Brer Fox! Oh! Brer Fox! ’ 

“Brer Fox done gone, en nobody say nuthin’. 
Den Brer Babbit squall out like he wuz mad ; sezee : 

“‘You needn’t talk less you wanter,’ sezee; ‘I 
knows youer dar, en I ain’t keerin’,’ sezee. ‘I des 
wanter tell you dat I wish mighty bad Brer Tukkey 
Buzzard wuz here,’ sezee. 

“ Den Mr. Buzzard try ter talk like Brer Fox: 

“ ‘ W’at you want wid Mr. Buzzard ? ’ sezee. 

“‘Oh, nuthin’ in ’tickler, ’cep’ dere’s de fattes’ 
gray squir’l in yer dat ever I see,’ sezee, ‘ en ef Brer 
Tukkey Buzzard wuz ’roun’ he’d be mighty glad fer 
ter git ’im,’ sezee. 

“ ‘ How Mr. Buzzard gwine ter git ’im ? ’ sez de 
Buzzard, sezee. 

Well, dar’s a little hole roun’ on de udder side er 
de tree,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee, ‘ en ef Brer Tukkey 
Buzzard wuz here so he could take up his stan’ dar,’ 
sezee, ‘ I’d drive dat squir’l out,’ sezee. 


MR. FOX IS AGAIN VICTIMIZED. 


35 


“ ‘ Drive ’im out, den,’ sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee, ‘ en 
I’ll see dat Brer Tukkey Buzzard gits ’im,’ sezee. 

u Den Brer Rabbit kick up a racket, like lie wer’ 
drivin’ sum pin’ out, en Mr. Buzzard he rush ’roun’ fer 
ter ketch de squir’l, en Brer Rab¬ 
bit, he dash out, he 
did, en he des fly fer 
home.” 

At this point Un¬ 
cle Remus took one 
of the tea¬ 
cakes, held 



his head back, opened his mouth, dropped the cake in 
with a sudden motion, looked at the little boy with an 
expression of astonishment, and then closed his eyes, 
and begun to chew, mumbling as an accompaniment 
the plaintive tune of “ Don’t you Grieve atter Me.” 

The seance was over; but, before the little boy 
went into the “big house,” Uncle Remus laid his 
rough hand tenderly on the child’s shoulder, and re¬ 
marked, in a confidential tone: 






36 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

“ Honey, you mus’ git up soon Chris’mus mawnin’ 
en open de do’; kase I’m gwineter bounce in on Marse 
John en Miss Sally, en holler Chris’mus gif’ des like I 
useter endurin’ de farmin’ days fo’ de war, w’en ole 
Miss wuz ’live. I boun’ dey don’t fergit de ole nigger, 
nudder. W’en you hear me callin’ de pigs, honey, you 
des hop up en onfassen de do’. I lay I’ll gitfe Marse 
John one er dese yer ’sprize parties.” 


VIII. 

MR. FOX IS “OUTDONE” BY MR. BUZZARD. 

“Ef I don’t run inter no mistakes,” remarked 
Uncle Remus, as the little boy came tripping in to see 
him after supper, “ Mr. Tukkey Buzzard wuz gyardin’ 
de holler whar Brer Rabbit went in at, en w’ich he 
come out un.” 

The silence of the little boy verified the old man’s 
recollection. 

“ Well > Mr- Buzzard, he feel mighty lonesome, he 
did, but he done prommnst Brer Fox dat he’d stay, en 
he ’termin’ fer ter sorter hang ’roun’ en jine in de 
joke. En he ain’t hatter wait long, nudder, kase bime- 
by yer come Brer Fox gallopin’ thoo de woods wid his 
axe on his shoulder. 

How you speck Brer Rabbit gittin’ on, Brer Buz¬ 
zard?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 


MR. FOX IS “OUTDONE” BY MR. BUZZARD. 37 

444 Oli, he in dar,’ sez Brer Buzzard, sezee. 4 He 
mighty still, dough. I speck he takin’ a nap,’ sezee. 

44 4 Den I’m des in time fer ter wake ’im up,’ sez 
Brer Fox, sezee. En wid dat he fling off his coat, en 
spit in his han’s, en grab de axe. Den he draw back 
en come down on de tree—pow! En eve’y time he 
come down wid de axe—pow!—Mr. Buzzard, he step 
high, he did, en holler out: 


44 4 Oh, he in dar, Brer Fox. He / 



44 En eve’y time a chip ud fly off, Mr. Buzzard, he’d 
jump, en dodge, en hole his head sideways, he would, 
en holler: 




38 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ 4 He in dar, Brer Fox. I done lieerd ’im. He in 
dar, sho.’ 

u En Brer Fox, lie lammed away at dat holler tree, 
he did, like a man maulin’ rails, twel bimeby, atter he 
done got de tree mos’ cut thoo, he stop fer ter ketch his 
bref, en he seed Mr. Buzzard laughin’ behime his back, 
he did, en right den en dar, widout gwine enny fudder, 
Brer Fox, he smelt a rat. But Mr. Buzzard, he keep 
on holler’n: 

“ ‘ He in dar, Brer Fox. He in dar, sho. I done 
seed ’im.’ 

u Hen Brer Fox, he make like he peepin’ up de 
holler, en he say, sezee : 

Run yer, Brer Buzzard, en look ef dis ain’t Brer 
Rabbit’s foot hanging down yer.’ 

“En Mr. Buzzard, he come steppin’ up, he did, 
same ez ef he wer treddin’ on kurkle-burs, en he stick 
his head in.de hole ; en no sooner did he done dat dan 
Brer Fox grab ’im. Mr. Buzzard flap his wings, en 
scramble ’roun’ right smartually, he did, but ’twant no 
use. Brer Fox had de ’vantage er de grip, he did, en 
he hilt ’im right down ter de groun’. Den Mr. Buz¬ 
zard squall out, sezee: 

Lem me ’lone, Brer Fox. Tu’n me loose,’ 
sezee; ‘Brer Rabbit’ll git out. Youer gittin’ close 
at ’im,’ sezee, ‘en leb’m mo’ licks’ll fetch ’im,’ 
sezee. 

“ ‘ I’m nigher ter you, Brer Buzzard,’ sez Brer Fox, 


MR. FOX IS “ OUTDONE ” BY MR. BUZZARD. 39 

sezee, ‘dan I’ll be ter Brer Babbit dis day,’ sezee. 
‘ W’at you fool me fer ? ’ sezee. 

“ ‘ Lemme ’lone, Brer Fox,’ sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee ; 
‘my ole ’oman waitin’ fer me. Brer Babbit in dar,’ 
sezee. 

“ ‘ Dar’s a bunch er his fur on dat black-be’y bush,’ 
sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en dat ain’t de way he come,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den Mr. Buzzard up’n tell Brer Fox how ’twuz, 
en he low’d, Mr. Buzzard did, dat Brer Babbit wuz de 
lowdownest w’atsizname w’at he ever run up wid. 
Den Brer Fox say, sezee: 

“ ‘ Dat’s needer here ner dar, Brer Buzzard,’ sezee. 
‘ I lef’ you yer fer ter watch dish yere hole, en I lef’ 
Brer Babbit in dar. I comes back en I fines you at de 
hole en Brer Babbit ain’t in dar,’ sezee. ‘ I’m gwine- 
ter make you pay fer’t. I done bin tampered wid twel 
plum’ down ter de sap sucker’ll set on a log en sassy 
me. I’m gwinter fling you in a bresh-heap en burn 
you up,’ sezee. 

“‘Ef you fling me on der tier, Brer Fox, I’ll fly 
’way,’ sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee. 

“ ‘ Well, den, I’ll settle yo’ hash right now,’ sez 
Brer Fox, sezee, en wid dat he grab Mr. Buzzard by de 
tail, he did, en make fer ter dash ’im ’gin de groun’, 
but des ’bout dat time de tail fedders come out, en Mr. 
Buzzard sail off like one er dese yer berloons; en ez 
he riz, he holler back : 


40 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

“ ‘ You gimme good start, Brer Fox,’ sezee, en Brer 
Fox sot dar en watch ’im % outer sight.” 



“Don’t you pes¬ 
ter ’longer Brer Babbit, honey, en don’t you fret 
bout ’im. You’ll year whar he went en how he come 
out. Dish yer cole snap rastles wid my bones, now,” 
continued the old man, putting on his hat and pick¬ 
ing up his walking-stick. “ Hit rastles wid me mons- 
tus, en I getter rack ’roun’ en see if I kin run up agin 
some Chris’mus leavin’s.” 



MISS COW FALLS A VICTIM TO MR. RABBIT. 44 


IX. 

MISS COW FALLS A VICTIM TO MR. RABBIT. 

“ Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, 44 what became 
of the Rabbit after he fooled the Buzzard, and got out 
of the hollow tree ? ” 

u Who ? Brer Rabbit ? Bless yo’ soul, honey, Brer 
Rabbit went skippin’ ’long home, he did, des ez sassy 
ez a jay-bird at a sparrer’s nes’. He went gallopin’ 
’long, he did, but he feel mighty tired out, en stiff in 
his jints, en he wuz mighty nigh dead for sumpin fer 
ter drink, en bimeby, w’en he got mos’ home, he spied 
ole Miss Cow feedin’ roun’ in a fiel’, he did, en he 
’termin’ fer ter try his han’ wid ’er. Brer Rabbit 
know mighty well dat Miss Cow won’t give ’im no 
milk, kaze she done ’fuse ’im mo’n once, en w’en his 
ole ’oman wuz sick, at dat. But never mind dat. Brer 
Rabbit sorter dance up ’long side er de fence, he did, 
en holler out : 

“ 4 Howdy, Sis Cow,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 

“ 4 W’y, howdy, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Miss Cow, sez 

she. 

“ 4 How you fine yo’se’f deze days, Sis Cow ? ’ sez 
Brer Rabbit, sezee. 

u 4 I’m sorter toler’ble, Brer Rabbit; how you come 
on ? ’ sez Miss Cow, sez she. 

“ 4 Oh, I’m des toler’ble myse’f, Sis Cow; sorter lin- 


42 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


ger’n’ twix’ a bauk en a break-down,’ sez Brer Rabbit, 
sezee. 

“ ‘ How yo’ fokes, Brer Rabbit ? ’ sez Miss Cow, sez 

she. 


“ 6 Dey er des middlin’, Sis Cow; how Brer Bull 
gittin’ on ? ’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 


“ c Sorter so-so,’ sez Miss 



un urn,’ sezee. 

“ ‘ How you gwineter git um, Brer Rabbit ? ’ sez she. 
U i I ’low’d maybe dat I might ax you fer ter butt 
gin de tree, en shake some down, Sis Cow,’ sez Brer 
Rabbit, sezee. 


MISS COW FALLS A VICTIM TO MR. RABBIT. 43 

u C’ose Miss Cow don’t wanter diskommerdate 
Brer Rabbit, en she inarch up ter de ’simmon tree, she 
did, en hit it a rap wid’er horns—blam ! Now, den,” 
continued Uncle Remus, tearing off the corner of a 
plug of tobacco and cramming it into his mouth— 
“ now, den, dem ’simmons wuz green ez grass, en 
na’er one never drap. Den Miss-Cow butt de tree 
—blim ! Na’er ’simmon drap. Den Miss Cow sorter 
back off little, en run agin de tree—blip ! No ’sim¬ 
mons never drap. Den Miss Cow back off little 
fudder, she did, en hi’st her tail on ’er back, en come 
agin de tree, kerblam! en she come so fas’, en she 
come so hard, twel one ’er her horns went spang thoo 
de tree, en dar she wuz. She can’t go forreds, en 
6he can’t go backerds. Dis zackly w’at Brer Rabbit 
waitin’ fer, en he no sooner seed ole Miss Cow al] 
fas’en’d up dan he jump up, he did, en cut de pidjin- 
wing. 

“ ‘ Come he’p me out, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Miss Cow, 
sez she. 

“ 6 I can’t clime, Sis Cow,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 

‘ but I’ll run’n tell Brer Bull,’ sezee; en wid dat Brer 
Rabbit put out fer home, en ’twan’t long ’fo here he 
come wid his ole ’oman en all his cliilluns, en de las’ 
one er de fambly wuz totin’ a pail. De big uns had 
big pails, en de little uns had little pails. En dey all 
s’roundid ole Miss Cow, dey did, en you hear me, hon¬ 
ey, dey milk’t ’er dry. De ole uns milk’t en de young 


44 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


uns milk’t, en den w’en dey done got nuff, Brer Bab¬ 
bit, he up’n say, sezee : 

“‘1 wish you mighty well, Sis 
Cow. I ’low’d bein’s how dat 
you’d hatter sorter camp out all 
night dat I’d better 
come en swaje yo’ 
1, sezee.” 



“Do which, Uncle 
Remus?” asked the lit¬ 
tle boy. 

“ Go ’long, honey ! 

Swaje ’er bag. W’en 
cows don’t git milk’t, 
der bag swells, en 
youk’n hear um a 
moanin’ en a beller’n 
des like dey wuz gittin’ 
hurtid. Dat’s w’at 
Brer Rabbit done. He 
’sembled his fambly, 
he did, en he swaje ole 
Miss Cow’s bag. 

“ Miss Cow, she stood dar, she did, en she study en 
study, en strive fer ter break loose, but de liorn done 




MISS COW FALLS A VICTIM TO MR. RABBIT. 45 

bin jam in de tree so tight dat twuz way ’fo day in de 
mornin’ ’fo’ she loose it. Anyhow hit wuz endurin’ er 
de night, en atter she git loose she sorter graze ’roun’, 
she did, fer ter jestify ’er stummuck. She ’low’d, ole 
Miss Cow did, dat Brer Babbit be hoppin’ ’long dat 
way fer ter see how she gittin’ on, en she tuck’n lay er 
trap fer ’im ; en des ’bout sunrise wat’d ole Miss Cow 
do but march up ter de ’simmon tree en stick er horn 
back in de hole ? But, bless yo’ soul, honey, w’ile she 
wuz croppin’ de grass, she tuck one moufull too 
menny, kaze w’en she hitch on ter de ’simmon tree 
agin, Brer Babbit wuz settin’ in de fence cornder a 
watchin’ un ’er. Den Brer Babbit he say ter hisse’f : 

“ 4 Heyo,’ sezee, ‘w’at dis yer gwine on now? Hole 
yo’ hosses, Sis Cow, twel you hear me cornin’,’ sezee. 

“ En den he crope off down de fence, Brer Babbit 
did, en bimeby here he come—lippity-clippity, clippity- 
lippity—des a sailin’ down de big road. 

“ ‘ Mornin’, Sis Cow,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee, ‘ how 
you come on dis mornin’ ? ’ sezee. 

“ ‘ Po’ly, Brer Babbit, po’ly,’ sez Miss Cow, sez she. 

‘ I ain’t had no res’ all night,’ sez she. f I can’t pul] 
loose,’ sez she, ‘ but ef you’ll come en ketch holt er my 
tail, Brer Babbit,’ sez she, ‘ I reckin may be I kin fetch 
my horn out,’ sez she. Den Brer Babbit, he come up 
little closer, but he ain’t gittin’ too close. 

“‘I speck I’m nigh nuff, Sis Cow,’ sez Brer Bab¬ 
bit, sezee. ‘ I’m a mighty puny man, en I might git 


46 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

trompled,’ sezee. ‘You do de pullin’, Sis Cow,’ sezee, 
‘ en I’ll do de gruntin’,’ sezee. 

“ Ben Miss Cow, she pull out ’er horn, she did, en 
tuck atter Brer Babbit, en down de big road dey had 
it, Brer Rabbit wid his years laid back, en Miss Cow 



wid ’er head down en ’er tail curl. Brer Babbit kep’ 
on gainin’, en bimeby he dart in a brier-patch, en by 
de time Miss Cow come ’long he had his head stickin’ 
out, en his eyes look big ez Miss Sally’s chany sassers. 

“ ‘ Heyo, Sis Cow! Whar you gwine ? ’ sez Brer 
Babbit, sezee. 

“ ‘ Howdy, Brer Big-Eyes,’ sez Miss Cow, sez she. 
‘ Is you seed Brer Babbit go by ? ’ 

“ ‘ He des dis minit pass,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee, 
6 en he look mighty sick,’ sezee. 

“ En wid dat, Miss Cow tuck down de road like de 
dogs wuz atter ’er, en Brer Babbit, he des lay down dar 
in de brier-patch en roll en laugh twel his sides hurtid 
im. He bleedzd ter laff. Fox atter ’im, Buzzard atter 
’im, en Cow atter ’im, en dey ain’t kotch ’im yit.” 



MR. TERRAPIN APPEARS UPON THE SCENE. 47 


X. 


MR. TERRAPIN APPEARS UPON THE SCENE. 

“ Miss Sally’s ” little boy again occupying the anx¬ 
ious position of auditor, Uncle Remus took the shovel 
and “ put de noses er de chunks tergedder,” as he ex¬ 
pressed it, and then began : 

“ One day, atter Sis Cow done run pas’ ’er own 
shadder tryin’ fer ter ketch ’im, Brer Rabbit tuck’n 


V •. . " 

1 



’low dat he wuz gwineter drap in en see Miss Meadows 
en de gals, en he got out his piece er lookin’-glass en 











48 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

primp up, he did, en sot out. Gwine canterin’ ’long 
de road, who should Brer Rabbit run up wid but ole 
Brer Tarrypin—de same ole one-en-sixpunce. Brer 
Rabbit stop, he did, en rap on de roof er Brer Tarry- 
pin house.” 

“ On the roof of his house, Uncle Remus ? ” inter¬ 
rupted the little boy. 

“ Co’se honey, Brer. Tarrypin kare his house wid 
’im. Rain er shine, hot er cole, strike up wid ole Brer 
Tarrypin w’en you will en w’ilst you may, en whar you 
fine ’im, dar you’ll fine his shanty. Hit’s des like I tell 
you. So den! Brer Rabbit he rap on de roof er Brer 
Tarrypin’s house, he did, en ax wuz he in, en Brer 
Tarrypin ’low dat he wuz, en den Brer Rabbit, he ax 
’im howdy, en den Brer Tarrypin he likewise ’spon’ 
howdy, en den Brer Rabbit he say whar wuz Brer 
Tarrypin gwine, en Brer Tarrypin, he say w’ich he 
wern’t gwine nowhar skasely. Den Brer Rabbit ’low 
he wuz on his way fer ter see Miss Meadows en de 
gals, en he ax Brer Tarrypin ef he won’t jine in en go 
long, en Brer Tarrypin ’spon’ he don’t keer ef he do, 
en den dey sot out. Dey had plenty er time fer con- 
fabbin’ ’long de way, but bimeby dey got dar, en Miss 
Meadows en de gals dey come ter de do’, dey did, en 
ax um in, en in dey went. 

“ W’en dey got in, Brer Tarrypin wuz so flat-footed 
dat he wuz too low on de flo’, en he wern’t high nuff 
in a cheer, but while dey wuz all scramblin’ ’roun’ 


MR. TERRAPIN APPEARS UPON THE SCENE. 49 

try in’ fer ter git Brer Tarry pin a cheer, Brer Rabbit, 
he pick ’im up en put ’im on de shelf whar de water- 
bucket sot, en ole Brer Tarrypin, he lay back up dar, 
he did, des es proud ez a nigger wid a cook ’possum. 

“ Co’se de talk fell on Brer Fox, en Miss Meadows 
en de gals make a great ’miration ’bout w’at a gaily 
ridin’-hoss Brer Fox wuz, en dey make lots er fun, en 
laugh en giggle same like gals duz deze days. Brer 
Rabbit, he sot dar in de cheer smokin’ his seegyar, en 
he sorter kler up his th’oat, en say, sezee: 

“ ‘ I’d er rid ’im over dis mawnin’, ladies,’ sezee, 
6 but I rid ’im so hard yistiddy dat he went lame in 
de off fo’ leg, en I speck I’ll hatter swop ’im off yit,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den Brer Tarrypin, he up’n say, sezee: 

“‘Well, ef you gwineter sell ’im, Brer Rabbit,’ 
sezee, ‘ sell him some’rs outen dis naberhood, kase he 
done bin yer too long now,’ sezee. ‘ No longer’n day 
’fo’ yistiddy,’ sezee, ‘ Brer Fox pass me on de road, en 
whatter you reckin he say ? ’ sezee : 

“ ‘ Law, Brer Tarrypin,’ sez Miss Meadows, sez she, 
6 you don’t mean ter say he cust ? ’ sez she, en den de 
gals hilt der fans up ’fo’ der faces. 

“ ‘ Oh, no, ma’m,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, ‘ he 
didn’t cust, but he holler out—“ Heyo, Stinkin’ Jim!”’ 
6ezee. 

“‘Oh, my! You hear dat, gals?’ sez Miss Mead¬ 
ows, sez she; ‘ Brer Fox call Brer Tarrypin Stinkin’ 


50 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


Jim,’ sez she, en den Miss Meadows en de gals make 
great wonderment how Brer Fox kin talk dat a way 
’bout nice man like Brer Tarrypin. 

“ But bless grashus, honey ! w’ilst all dis gwine on, 
Brer Fox wuz stannin’ at de back do’ wid one year at 
de cat-hole lissenin’. Eave-drappers don’t hear no good 
er deyse’f, en de way Brer Fox wuz ’bused dat day wuz 
a caution. 

“ Bimeby Brer Fox stick his head in de do’, en 
holler out: 

“ ‘ Good evenin’, fokes, I wish you mighty well,’ 
sezee, en wid dat he make a dash for Brer Rabbit, but 
Miss Meadows en de gals dey holler en squall, dey did, 



en Brer Tarrypin he got ter scramblin’ roun’ up dar 
on de shelf, en off he come, en blip he tuck Brer Fox 













































MR. TERRAPIN APPEARS UPON THE SCENE. 51 

on de back er de head. Dis sorter stunted Brer Fox, 
en w’en he gedder his ’membunce de 1110s’ he seed wuz 
a pot er greens turnt over in de fireplace, en a broke 
cheer. Brer Babbit wuz gone, en Brer Tarrypin wuz 
gone, en Miss Meadows en de gals wuz gone.” 

“ Where did the Babbit go, Uncle Bemus ? ” the 
little boy asked, after a pause. 

“ Bless yo’ soul, honey! Brer Babbit he skint up 
de cliimbly—dats w’at turnt de pot er greens over. 
Brer Tarrypin, he crope under de bed, he did, en got 
behime de cloze-chist, en Miss Meadows en de gals, dey 
run out in de yard. 

“ Brer Fox, he sorter look roun’ en feel er de back 
er his head, whar Brer Tarrypin lit, but he don’t see 
no sine er Brer Babbit. But de smoke en de ashes 
gwine up de chimbly got de best er Brer Babbit, en 
bimeby he sneeze— huclcychow ! 

“ £ Aha ! ’ sez Brer Fox, sezee ; ‘ youer dar, is you ? ’ 
sezee. ‘ Well, I’m gwineter smoke you out, ef it takes 
a mont’. Youer mine dis time,’ sezee. Brer Babbit 
ain’t sayin’ nuthin’. 

Ui Ain’t you cornin’ down?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 
Brer Babbit ain’t sayin’ nuthin’. Den Brer Fox, he 
went out atter some wood, he did, en w’en he come 
back he hear Brer Babbit laughin’. 

“ ‘ W’at you laughin’ at, Brer Babbit ? ’ sez Brer 
Fox, sezee. 

“‘ Can’t tell you, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee. 


52 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ 4 Better tell, Brer Rabbit/ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 
Tain t nnthin’ but a box er money somebody 
done gone en lef up yer in de chink er de chimbly,’ 
sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 

“ ‘ Don’t b’leeve you,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

Look up en see,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, en w’en 
Brer Fox look up, Brer Rabbit spit his eyes full er 



terbarker joose, he did, en Brer Fox, he make a break 
fer de branch, en Brer Rabbitt he come down en tole 
de ladies good-by. 

How you git ’im off, Brer Rabbit ? ’ sez Miss 
Meadows, sez she. 


















MR. WOLF MAKES A FAILURE. 


53 


“ 4 Who ? me ? 5 sez Brer Babbit, sezee ; ‘ w’y I des 
tuck en tole ’im dat ef he didn’t go ’long home en stop 
playin’ his pranks on spectubble fokes, dat I’d take ’im 
out and th’ash ’im,’ sezee.” 

And what became of the Terrapin ? ” asked the 
little boy. 

“ Oh, well den ! ” exclaimed the old man, “ chilluns 
can’t speck ter know all’bout everything ’fo’ dey git 
some res’. Dem eyeleds er yone wanter be propped 
vvid straws dis minnit.” 


XI. 


MR. WOLF MAKES A FAILURE. 

“ I lay yo’ ma got comp’ny,” said Uncle Bemus, as 
the little boy entered the old man’s door with a huge 
piece of mince-pie in his hand, “en ef she ain’t got 
comp’ny, den she done gone en drap de cubberd key 
som’ers whar you done run up wid it.” 

“ Well, I saw the pie lying there, Uncle Bemus, 
and I just thought I’d fetch it out to you.” 

“ Tooby sho, honey,” replied the old man; regard¬ 
ing the child with admiration. “ Tooby sho, honey; 
dat changes marters. Chrismus doin’s is outer date, en 
dey ain’t got no bizness layin’ roun’ loose. Dish yer 
pie,” Uncle Bemus continued, holding it up and meas¬ 
uring it with an experienced eye, “ will gimme strenk 


54 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

fer ter persoo on atter Brer Fox en Brer Babbit en de 
udder creeturs w’at dey roped in ’long wid um.” 

Here the old man paused, and proceeded to demol¬ 
ish the pie—a feat accomplished in a very short time. 
Then he wiped the crumbs from his beard and began: 

“ Brer Fox feel so bad, en he git so mad ’bout Brer 
Babbit, dat he dunner w’at ter do, en he look mighty 
down-hearted. Bimeby, one day wiles he wuz gwine 
’long de road, old Brer Wolf come up wid ’im. W’en 
dey done howdyin’ en axin’ atter one nudder’s fambly 
connexshun, Brer Wolf, he ’low, he did, dat der wuz 
sump’n wrong wid Brer Fox, en Brer Fox, he ’low’d 
der wern’t, en he went on en laugh en make great ter- 
do kaze Brer Wolf look like he spishun sump’n. But 
Brer Wolf, he got mighty long head, en he sorter 
broach ’bout Brer Babbit’s kyar’ns on, kaze de way dat 
Brer Babbit ’ceive Brer Fox done got ter be de talk er 
de naberhood. Den Brer Fox en Brer Wolf dey 
sorter palavered on, dey did, twel bimeby Brer Wolf 
he up’n say dat he done got plan fix fer ter trap Brer 
Babbit. Den Brer Fox say how. Den Brer Wolf 
up’n tell ’im dat de way fer ter git de drap on Brer 
Babbit wuz ter git ’im in Brer Fox house. Brer Fox 
dun know Brer Babbit uv ole, en he know dat sorter 
game done wo’ ter a frazzle, but Brer Wolf, he talk 
mighty ’swadin’. 

“ ‘ How jo u gwine git ’im dar ? ’ sez Brer Fox, 


sezee. 


MR. WOLF MAKES A FAILURE. 55 

“ 6 Fool ’im dar,’ sez Brer Wolf, sezee. 

“ ‘ Who gwine do de foolin’ \ ’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 



“ £ I’ll do de foolin’,’ sez Brer Wolf, sezee, 4 ef 
you’ll do de gamin’,’ sezee. 

“ ‘ How you gwine do it ? ’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ 4 You run ’long home, en git on de bed, en make 
like you dead, en don’t you say nothin’ twel Brer Bab¬ 
bit come en put his han’s onter you,’ sez Brer Wolf, 
sezee, ‘ en ef we don’t git ’im fer supper, Joe’s dead en 
Sal’s a widder,’ sezee. 




56 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“Dis look like mighty nice game, en Brer Fox 
’greed. So den lie amble off home, en Brer Wolf, he 
march off ter Brer Babbit house. W’en he got dar, 
hit look like nobody at home, but Brer Wolf he walk 
up en knock on de do’—blam ! blam ! Nobody come. 
Den he lam aloose en knock ’gin—blim ! blim ! 

“ 4 Who dar ? ’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee. 

“ ‘ Fr’en’,’ sez Brer Wolf. 

“ 4 Too menny fr’en’s spiles de dinner,’ sez Brer 
Babbit, sezee; 4 w’ich un’s dis ? ’ sezee. 

“ 4 1 fetch bad news, Brer Babbit,’ sez Brer Wolf, 
sezee. 

44 4 Bad news is soon tole,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee. 

44 By dis time Brer Babbit done come ter de do’, 
wid his head tied up in a red hankcher. 

44 4 Brer Fox died dis mornin’,’ sez Brer Wolf, 
sezee. 

Whar yo’ mo’nin’ gown, Brer Wolf?’ sez Brer 
Babbit, sezee. 

4 * 4 Gwine atter it now,’ sez Brer Wolf, sezee. 4 1 
des call by fer ter bring de news. I went down ter 
Brer Fox house little bit ’go, en dar I foun’ ’im stiff,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den Bre1 ’ Wc>lf lope off. Brer Babbit sot down 
en scratch his head, he did, en bimeby he say ter hisse’f 
dat he b’leeve he sorter drap ’roun’ by Brer Fox house 
fer ter see how de lan’ lay. No sooner said’n done. 
Bp he jump, en out he went. W’en Brer Babbit got 


MR. WOLF MAKES A FAILURE. 57 

close ter Brer Fox house, all look lonesome. Den he 
went up nigher. Nobody stirrin’. Den he look in, 
en dar lay Brer Fox stretch out on de bed des ez big 



ez life. Den Brer Babbit make like he talkin’ to 
hisse’f. 

“ ‘ Nobody ’roun’ fer ter look atter Brer Fox—not 
even Brer Tukkey Buzzard ain’t come ter de funer’l,’ 
sezee. 4 1 hope Brer Fox ain’t dead, but I speck he is,’ 
sezee. ‘ Even down ter Brer Wolf done gone en lef’ 
’im. Hit’s de busy season wid me, but I’ll set up wid 
’im. He seem like he dead, yit he mayn’t be,’ sez 
Brer Babbit, sezee. ‘ W’en a man go ter see dead 
fokes, dead fokes allers raises up der behime leg en 

hollers, wahoo ! ’ sezee. 

6 







58 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ Brer Fox lie stay still. Den Brer Babbit be talk 
little louder : 

“ ‘ Mighty funny. Brer Fox look like he dead, yit 
he don’t do like he dead. Dead fokes hists der behime 
leg en hollers wahoo! w’en a man come ter see urn,’ 
sez Brer Babbit, sezee. 

“ Sho’ nuff, Brer Fox lif’ up his foot en holler 
wahoo! en Brer Babbit he tear out de house like de 
dogs wuz atter ’im. Brer Wolf mighty smart, but 
nex’ time you hear fum ’im, honey, he’ll be in trouble. 
You des hole yo’ breff’n wait.” 


XII. 

MR. FOX TACKLES OLD MAN TARRYPIN. 

“ One day,” said Uncle Bemus, sharpening his knife 
on the palm of his hand—“ one day Brer Fox strike up 
wid Brer Tarrypin right in de middle er de big road. 
Brer Tarrypin done heerd ’im cornin’, en he ’low ter 
hissef dat he’d sorter keep one eye open ; but Brer Fox 
wuz monstus perlite, en he open up de confab, he did, 
like he ain’t see Brer Tarrypin sence de las’ freshit. 

“ ‘ Heyo, Brer Tarrypin, whar you bin dis long- 
come-short?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ ‘ Lounjun ’roun’, Brer Fox, lounjun ’roun’,’ 6ez 
Brer Tarrypin. 


MR. FOX TACKLES OLD MAN TARRYPIN. 


59 


“ ‘ You don’t look sprucy like you did, Brer Tarry- 
pin,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ ‘ Lounjun ’roun’ en suffer’n’,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, 
sezee. 

“ Den de talk sorter run on like dis : 

44 4 W’at ail you, Brer Tarrypin? Yo’ eye look 
mighty red,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ 4 Lor’, Brer Fox, you dunner w’at trubble is. You 
ain’t bin lounjun ’roun’ en suffer’n’,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, 
sezee. 

44 4 Bofe eyes red, en you look like you mighty 
weak, Brer Tarrypin,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 



44 4 Lor’, Brer Fox, you dunner w’at trubble is,’ sez 
Brer Tarrypin, sezee. 

44 4 W’at ail you now, Brer Tarrypin ? ’ sez Brer 
Fox, sezee. 




60 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

“ ‘ Tuck a walk de udder day, en man come ’long 
en sot de fiel’ a-fier. Lor’, Brer Fox, you dunner w’at 
trubble is,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee. 

“ ‘ How you git out de tier, Brer Tarrypin ? ’ sez 
Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ ‘ Sot en tuck it, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, 
sezee. ‘ Sot en tuck it, en de smoke sif’ in my eye, en 
de tier scorch my back,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee. 

Likewise hit bu’n yo’ tail off,’ sez Brer Fox, 

sezee. 

“ 4 Oh, no, dar’s de tail, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Tarry¬ 
pin, sezee, en wid dat he oncurl his tail fum under de 
shell, en no sooner did he do dat dan Brer Fox grab it, 
en holler out: 

Oh, yes, Brer Tarrypin ! Oh, yes ! En so youer 
de man w’at lam me on de head at Miss Meadows’s is 
you? Youer in wid Brer Babbit, is you? Well, I’m 
gwineter out you.’ 

“ Brer Tarrypin beg en beg, but ’twan’t no use. 
Brer Fox done been fool so much dat he look like he 
’termin’ fer ter have Brer Tarrypin haslett. Den Brer 
Tarrypin beg Brer Fox not fer ter drown ’im, but Brer 
Fox ain’t makin’ no prommus, en den he beg Brer Fox 
fer ter bu’n’ ’im, kase he done useter fier, but Brer Fox 
don’t say nuthin’. Bimeby Brer Fox drag Brer Tarry¬ 
pin off little ways b’low de spring-’ouse, en souze ’im 
under de water. Den Brer Tarrypin begin fer ter 
holler: 


MR. FOX TACKLES OLD MAN TARRYPIN. 61 

“ ‘ Tu’n loose dat stump root en ketch holt er me— 
tu’n loose dat stump root en ketch holt er me.’ 

• “ Brer Fox he holler back : 



“ ‘ I ain’t got holt er no stump root, en I is got holt 
er you.’ 




















62 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ Brer Tarrypin he keep on holler’n : 

“ ‘ Ketch holt er me—I’m a drownin’—I’m a 
drownin’—tu’n loose de stump root en ketch holt er 
me.’ 

“ Sho nuff, Brer Fox tu’n loose de tail, en Brer 
Tarrypin, he went down ter de bottom—kerblunkity- 
blink! ” 

No typographical combination or description could 
do justice to the guttural sonorousness—the peculiar 
intonation—which Uncle Bemus imparted to this com¬ 
bination. It was so peculiar, indeed, that the little boy 
asked: 

“ How did he go to the bottom, Uncle Kemus ? ” 

“ Kerblunkity-blink! ” 

“ Was he drowned, Uncle Kemus?” 

“ Who ? Ole man Tarrypin ? Is you drowndid 
w’en yo’ ma tucks you in de bed ? ” 

“ Well, no,” replied the little boy, dubiously, 

“ Ole man Tarrypin wuz at home I tell you, honey. 
Kerblinkity-blunk ! ” 


XIII. 

* 

THE AWFUL FATE OF MR. WOLF. 

Uncle Remus was half-soling one of his shoes, and 
his Miss Sally’s little boy had been handling his awls, 
his hammers, and his knives to such an extent that the 


THE AWFUL FATE OF MR. WOLF. 


63 


old man was compelled to assume a threatening atti¬ 
tude ; but peace reigned again, and the little boy 
perched himself on a chair, watching Uncle Remus 
driving in pegs. 

“ Folks w’at’s allers pesterin’ people, en bodderin’ 
’longer dat w’at ain’t dern, don’t never come ter no 
good eend. Dar wuz Brer Wolf ; stidder mindin’ un 
his own bizness, he hatter take en go in pardnerships 
wid Brer Fox, en dey want skacely a minnit in de day 
dat he want atter Brer Rabbit, en he kep’ on en kep’ 
on twel fus’ news you knowed he got kotch up wid— 
en he got kotch up wid monstus bad.” 

“ Goodness, Uncle Remus! I thought the Wolf let 
the Rabbit alone, after he tried to fool him about the 
Fox being dead.” 

“ Better lemme tell dish yer my way. Bimeby 
hit’ll be yo’ bed time, en Miss Sally’ll be a hollerin’ 
atter you, en you’ll be a whimplin’ roun’, en den Mars 
John’ll fetch up de re’r wid dat ar strop w’at I made 
fer ’im.” 

The child laughed, and playfully shook his fist in 
the simple, serious face of the venerable old darkey, 
but said no more. Uncle Remus waited awhile to be 
sure there was to be no other demonstration, and then 
proceeded: 

“ Brer Rabbit ain’t see no peace w’atsumever. 
He can’t leave home ’cep’ Brer Wolf ’ud make a raid 
en tote off some er de fambly. Brer Rabbit b’ilt ’im a 


64 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


straw house, en hit wuz tored down; den he made a 
house outen pine-tops, en dat went de same way ; den 



he made ’im a bark house, en dat wuz raided on, en 
eve y time he los a house he los’ one er his chilluns. 
Las’ Brer Rabbit got mad, he did, en oust, en den he 
went off, he did, en got some kyarpinters, en dey b’ilt 
’im a plank house wid rock foundashuns. Atter dat 
he could have some peace en quietness. He could go 
out en pass de time er day wid his neighbors, en come 
back en set by de fier, en smoke his pipe, en read de 
newspapers same like enny man w’at got a fambly. 
He made a 'hole, he did, in de cellar whar de little 
Rabbits could hide out w’en dar wuz much uv a racket 









THE AWFUL FATE OF MR. WOLF. 65 

in de neighborhood, en de latch er de front do’ kotch on 
de inside. Brer Wolf, he see how de lan’ lay, he did, 
en he lay low. De little Rabbits was mighty skittish, 
but hit got so dat cole chills ain’t run up Brer Rabbit’s 
back no mo’ w’en he heerd Brer Wolf go gallopin’ by. 

“ Bimeby, one day w’en Brer Rabbit wuz fixin’ fer 
ter call on Miss Coon, he heerd a monstus fuss en clat¬ 
ter up de big road, en ’mos’ ’fo’ he could fix his years 
fer ter lissen, Brer Wolf run in de do’. De little Rab¬ 
bits dey went inter dere hole in de cellar, dey did, like 
blowin’ out a cannle. Brer Wolf wuz far’ly kivver’d 
wid mud, en mighty nigh outer win’. 

“ 4 Oh, do pray save me, Brer Rabbit! ’ sez Brer 
Wolf, sezee. 4 Do please, Brer Rabbit! de dogs is 
atter me, en dey’ll t’ar me up. Don’t you year um 
cornin’ ? Oh, do please save me, Brer Rabbit! Hide 
me some’rs whar de dogs won’t git me.’ 

“ Ho quicker sed dan done. 

44 4 Jump in dat big chist dar, Brer Wolf,’ sez Brer 
Rabbit, sezee ; 4 jump in dar en make yo’se’f at home.’ 

44 In jump Brer Wolf, down come the led, en inter 
de hasp went de hook, en dar Mr. Wolf wuz. Den 
Brer Rabbit went ter de lookin’-glass, he did, en wink 
at hisse’f, en den he d'raw’d de rockin’-cheer in front er 
de fier, he did, en tuck a big chaw terbarker.” 

44 Tobacco, Uncle Remus ? ” asked the little boy, in¬ 
credulously. 

44 Rabbit terbarker, honey. You know dis yer life 


66 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

ev’lastin’ w’at Miss Sally puts ’mong de cloze in de 
trunk ; well, dat’s rabbit terbarker. Den Brer Babbit 
sot dar long time, he did, turnin’ his mine over en 
wukken his thinkin’ masheen. 



Seem like I hear one un urn smellin’ roun’ de 
chimbly-cornder des now.’ 

“ Den Brer Rabbit git de kittle en fill it full er 
water, en put it on de tier. 

“ ‘ W’at you doin’ now, Brer Babbit ? ’ 

Im fixin’ fer ter make you a nice cup er tea, 
Brer Wolf.’ 

Den Brer Babbit went ter de cubberd en git de 









































THE AWFUL FATE OF MR. WOLF. 


67 

gimlet, en commence for ter bo’ little holes in de chist- 
led. 

“ ‘ W’at you doin’ now, Brer Babbit ? ’ 

444 I’m a bo’in’ 
little boles so you 
kin get bref, Brer 
Wolf.’ 

44 Den Brer Bab¬ 
bit went out en git 
some mo’ wood, en 
fling it on de fier. 

44 4 W’at you doin’ 
now, Brer Babbit ? ’ 

444 I’m a chunkin’ up de fier so you won’t git cole, 
Brer Wolf.’ 

“ Den Brer Babbit went down inter de cellar en 
fotch out all his chilluns. 

44 4 W’at you doin’ now, Brer Babbit ? ’ 

44 4 I’m a tellin’ my chilluns w’at a nice man you is, 
Brer Wolf.’ 

44 En de chilluns, dey had ter put der han’s on der 
moufs fer ter keep fum lafAn’. Den Brer Babbit he 
got de kittle en commenced fer to po’ de hot water on 
de cliist-lid. 

44 4 W’at dat I hear, Brer Babbit ? ’ 

44 4 You hear de win’ a bio win’, Brer Wolf.’ 

44 Den de water begin fer ter sif’ thoo. 

44 4 W’at dat I feel, Brer Babbit ? ’ 








68 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ ‘ You feels de fleas a bitin’, Brer Wolf.’ 

“ ‘ Bey er bitin’ mighty hard, Brer Rabbit.’ 
u ‘ Tu’n over on de udder side, Brer Wolf.’ 

“ ‘ W’at dat I feel now, Brer Rabbit ? ’ 

“‘ Still you feels de fleas, Brer Wolf.’ 

“ ‘ Bey er eatin’ me up, Brer Rabbit,’ en dem wuz 
de las’ words er Brer Wolf, kase de scaldin’ water done 
de bizness. 

“ Ben Brer Rabbit call in his neighbors, he did, en 
dey hilt a reg’lar juberlee; en ef you go ter Brer Rab¬ 
bit’s house right now, I dunno but w’at you’ll fine Brer 
Wolf’s hide hangin’ in de back-po’ch, en all bekaze he 
wuz so bizzy wid udder fo’kses doin’s.” 


XIV. 

MR. FOX AND THE DECEITFUL FROGS. 

When the little boy ran in to see Uncle Remus the 
night after he had told him of the awful fate of Brer 
Wolf, the only response to his greeting was: 

“ I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! ” 

No explanation could convey an adequate idea of 
the intonation and pronunciation which Uncle Remus 
brought to bear upon this wonderful word. Those who 
can recall to mind the peculiar gurgling, jerking, liquid 
sound made by pouring water from a large jug, or the 


MR. POX AND THE DECEITFUL PROGS. 69 

Sound produced by throwing several stones in rapid 

rr T a POnd ° f deep ^ “V be able to 
form a very faint ld ea of the sound, but it can not be 

reproduced in print. The little boy was astonished. 
What did you say, Uncle Remus?” 

“ What is that ? ” 

Dat s Tarrypin talk, dat is. Bless yo’ soul, honey ” 
continued the old man, brightening ij- Ven yljt 
ole ez me w’en you see w’at I sees, en year w’at I 
years de creeturs dat you can’t talk wid ’ll be mighty 
skase-dey will dat. W’y, ders er old gray rat 
uses bout yer, en time atter time he comes out w’en 
you all done gone ter bed en sets up dar in de cornder 
en dozes, en me en him talks by de ’our; en w’at dat 
old rat dunno ain’t down in de spellin’ book. Des now 
w en you run in and broke me up, I wuz fetchin’ inter 
my mine w’at Brer Tarrypin say ter Brer Fox w’en he 
turn im loose in de branch.” 

“ What did he say, Uncle Remus ? ” 

“Dat w’at he said-I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! 

h T WUZ at de b ° tt0m er de P on ’> eri he talk 

ack, he did, in bubbles-I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker I 

Brer Fox, he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but Brer Bull-Frog 

hi h:i,e 0 r n balk: ank ’ * ^ ^ he ** « 

Jug-er-rum-kum-dum 1 Jug-er-rum-kum-dum! > 


70 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


44 Den n’er Frog holler out: 

44 4 Knee-deep! Knee-deep!’ 

“ Den ole Brer Bull-Frog, he 
holler back: 

444 Don’t - you-ber-lieve-’im ! 
Don’t-you-berlieve-’im! ’ 
f)Uu . 44 Den de bubbles come 

C ^ Wf J U P ^ um -^ rer Tarrypm : 



44 4 1-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! ’ 

44 Den n’er Frog sing out: 

44 4 Wade in! Wade in! ’ 

44 Den ole Brer Bull-Frog talk thoo his ho’seness: 

44 4 Dar-you’ll-fine-yo’-brudder ! Dar-yon’ll-ime-yo’- 
brudder1’ 

44 Sho nuff, Brer Fox look over de bank, he did, en 
dar wuz n’er Fox lookin’ at ’im outer de water. Den 










MR. FOX AND THE DECEITFUL FROGS. 71 


he retch out fer ter shake han’s, en in he went, heels 
over head, en Brer Tarrypin bubble out: 

“ ‘ I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker ! ’ ” 



Kir' f />- ^ "1 / ^ 



“ Was the Fox drowned, Uncle Bemus ? ” asked the 
little boy. 

“ He wern’t zackly drowndid, honey/’ replied the 



























72 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

old man, with an air of cautious reserve. “ He did 
manage fer ter scramble out, but a little mo’ en de Mud 
Turkle would er got ’im, en den he’d er bin made hash 
tin worril widout een’.” 


xv. 

MR. FOX GOES A-HUNTING, BUT MR. RABBIT 
BAGS THE GAME. 

“Atter Brer Fox hear ’bout how Brer Rabbit 
done Brer Wolf,” said Uncle Remus, scratching his 
head with the point of his awl, “ he ’low, he did, dat 
he better not be so brash, en he sorter let Brer Rab¬ 
bit ’lone. Dey wuz all time seein’ one nudder, en 
’bunnunce er times Brer Fox could er nab Brer 
Rabbit, but eve’y time he got de chance, his mine 
’ud sorter rezume ’bout Brer Wolf, en he let Brer 
Rabbit ’lone. Birneby dey ’gun ter git kinder fa- 
miiious wid wunner nudder like dey useter, en it got 
•so Brer Fox’d call on Brer Rabbit, en dey’d set up en 
smoke der pipes, dey would, like no ha’sh feelin’s ’d 
ever rested ’twixt um. 

“ Las ’’ one <% Brer Fox come ’long all rig out, en 
ax Brer Rabbit fer ter go huntin’ wid ’im, but Brer 
Rabbit, he sorter feel lazy, en he tell Brer Fox dat 
he got some udder fish fer ter fry. Brer Fox feel 
mighty sorry, he did, but he say he b’leeve he try his 


MR. FOX GOES A-HUNTING. 


73 


han' enny how, en off he put. He wuz gone all day, 
en he had a monstus streak er luck, Brer Fox did, en 



Brer Fox fer ter git ’long home. Den Brer Rabbit, 
he went’n mounted a stump fer ter see ef he could 
year Brer Fox cornin’. He ain’t bin dar long, twel 
sho’ nuff, yer come Brer Fox thoo de woods, singing 
like a nigger at a frolic. Brer Rabbit, he lipt down 
off’n de stump, he did, en lay down in de road en 
make like he dead. Brer Fox he come ’long, he did, 
en see Brer Rabbit layin’ dar. He tu’n ’im over, he 
did, en ’zamine ’im, en say, sezee: 

“ * Dish yer rabbit dead. He look like he bin 
7 


74 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


dead long time. He dead, but he mighty fat. He 
de fattes’ rabbit w’at I ever see, but he bin dead too 
long. I feard ter take ’im home,’ sezee. 

“ Brer Rabbit ain’t sayin’ nuthin’. Brer Fox, he 
sorter lick his chops, but he went on en lef’ Brer 
Rabbit layin’ in de road. Dreckly he wuz outer sight, 
Brer Rabbit, he jump up, he did, en run roun’ thoo de 


woods en git befo 
Fox, he come up, 
periently cole en 


Brer Fox agin. Brer 
en dar lay Brer Rabbit, 
stiff. Brer Fox, he look 
at Brer Rabbit, en 
he sorter study. At- 



ter while he onslung 
his game-bag, en say 


ter hisse’f, sezee : 

“ ‘ Deze yer rabbits gwine ter was’e. I’ll des ’bout 
leave my game yer, en I’ll go back’n git dat udder 
rabbit, en I’ll make fokes b’leeve dat I’m ole man 
Hunter fum Huntsville,’ sezee. 




OLD MR. RABBIT, HE’S A GOOD FISHERMAN. ?5 

“ En wid dat he drapt his game en loped back 
up de road atter de udder rabbit, en w’en he got outer 
sight, ole Brer Babbit, he snatch up Brer Fox game 
en put out fer home. Bex’ time he see Brer Fox, he 
holler out: 

“ 4 What you kill de udder day, Brer Fox?’ sezee. 

44 Den Brer Fox, he sorter koam his flank wid his 
tongue, en holler back : 

44 4 1 kotch a han’ful er hard sense, Brer Babbit,’ 
sezee. 

44 Den ole Brer Babbit, he laff, he did, en up en 
’spon’, sezee : 

44 4 Ef I’d a know’d you wuz atter dat, Brer Fox, 
I’d a loant you some er mine,’ sezee.” 

(hr ' 

XVI. 

OLD MR. RABBIT\ HE'S A GOOD FISHERMAN. 

44 Brer Babbit en Brer Fox wuz like some chilluns 
w’at I knows un,” said Uncle Bemus, regarding the 
little boy, who had come to hear another story, with an 
affectation of great solemnity. 44 Bofe un urn wuz 
allers atter wunner nudder, a prankin’ en a pester’n 
’roun’, but Brer Babbit did had some peace, kaze Brer 
Fox done got skittish ’bout puttin’ de clamps on Brer 
Babbit. 


76 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


u One day, w’en Brer Babbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer 
Coon, en Brer B’ar, en a whole lot un um wuz clearin’ 
up a new groun’ fer ter plant a roas’n’year patch, de 
sun ’gun ter git sorter hot, en Brer Rabbit he got 
tired ; but he didn’t let on, kaze he ’fear’d de balance 
un ura’d call ’im lazy, en he keep on totin’ off trash en 
pilin’ up bresh, twel bimeby he holler out dat he 
gotter brier in his han’, en den 
he take’n slip off, en hunt fer 
cool place fer 



ter res’. Atter w’ile 
he come ’crosst a 
well wid a 
bucket hang 
in’ in it. 

“ ‘ Dat look 
cool,’ sez Brer 
Babbit, sezee, 

4 en cool I speck she is. I’ll des ’bout git in dar en 
take a nap,’ en wid dat in he jump, he did, en he ain’t 
no sooner fix hisse’f dan de bucket ’gun ter go down.” 

“Wasn’t the Babbit scared, Uncle Remus?” asked 
the little boy. 


OLD MR. RABBIT, HE’S A GOOD FISHERMAN. 77 

“ Honey, dey ain’t been no wusser skeer’d beas’ 
sence de worril begin dan disk yer same Brer Rabbit. 
He fa’rly had a ager. He know whar he cum fum, but 
he dunner whar he gwine. Dreckly he feel de bucket 
hit de water, en dar she sot, but Brer Rabbit he keep 
mighty still, kaze he dunner w’at minnit gwineter be 
de nex’. He des lay dar en shuck en shiver. 

“ Brer Fox allers got one eye on Brer Rabbit, en 
w’en he slip off fum de new groun’, Brer Fox he sneak 
atter ’im. He know Brer Rabbit wuz atter some 
projick er nudder, en he tuck’n crope off, he did, en 
watch ’im. Brer Fox see Brer Rabbit come to de well 
en stop, en den he see ’im jump in de bucket, en 
den, lo en beholes, he see ’im go down outer sight. 
Brer Fox wuz de rrios’ ’stonish Fox dat you ever laid 
eyes on. He sot off dar in de bushes en study en 
study, but he don’t make no head ner tails ter dis 
kinder bizness. Den he say ter hisso’f, sezee : 

“ ‘ Well, ef dis don’t bang my times,’ sezee, ‘ den 
Joe’s dead en Sal’s a widder. Right down dar in dat 
well Brer Rabbit keep his money hid, en ef ’tain’t dat 
den he done gone en ’skiver’d a gole-mine, en ef 
’tain’t dat, den I’m a gwineter see w’at’s in dar,’ 
sezee. 

“ Brer Fox crope up little nigher, he did, en lissen, 
but he don’t year no fuss, en he keep on gittin’ nigher, 
en yit he don’t year nuthin’. Bimeby he git up close 
en peep down, but he don’t see nuthin’ en ^e don’t 


78 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

year nutliin’. All dis time Brer Babbit mighty nigh 
skeer’d outen his skin, en he fear’d fer ter move kaze 
de bucket might keel over en spill him out in de 
water. W’ile he sayin’ his pra’rs over like a train er 
kyars runnin’, ole Brer Fox holler out: 

“ ‘ Heyo, Brer Babbit! Who you wizzitin’ down 
dar ? ’ sezee. 

“ ‘ Who ? Me ? Oh, I’m des a fishin’, Brer Fox,’ 
sez Brer Babbit, sezee. ‘ I des say ter myse’f dat I’d 
sorter sprize you all wid a mess er fishes fer dinner, 
en so here I is, en dar’s de fishes. I’m a fishin’ fer 
suckers, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee. 

“ ‘ Is dey many un um down dar, Brer Babbit ? ’ 
sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

Lots un um, Brer Fox \ scoze en scoze un um. 
Be water is natally live wid um. Come down en 
he’p me haul um in, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Babbit, 
sezee. 

“ ‘ How I gwineter git down, Brer Babbit V 

“‘Jump inter de bucket, Brer Fox. Hit’ll fetch 
you down all safe en soun’.’ 

Brer Babbit talk so happy en talk so sweet dat 
Brer Fox he jump in de bucket, he did, en, ez he 
went down, co’se his weight pull Brer Babbit up. 
W en dey pass one nudder on de half-way groun’, 
Brer Babbit he sing out: 

“‘Good-by, Brer Fox, take keer yo’ cloze, 

Fer dis-is de way de worril goes; 


OLD MR. RABBIT, HE’S A GOOD FISHERMAN. 79 

Some goes up en some goes down, 

You’ll git ter de bottom all safe en sounV * 

“ W’en Brer Babbit got out, be gallop off en tele 
de fokes w’at de well b’long ter dat Brer Fox wuz 
down in dar mud- 
dyin’ up de drinkin’ 
water, en den be 
gallop back ter de 
well, en boiler down 
ter Brer Fox : 

“ ‘ Yer come a man wid a 
great big gun— 

W’en he haul you up, you 
jump en run.’ ” 

“ What then, Un¬ 
cle Bemus ? ” asked 
the little boy, as the 
old man paused. 

“ In des ’bout 
half n’our, honey, 
bofe un um wuz 
back in de new 
groun’ wukkin des like dey never heer’d er no well, 
ceppin’ dat eve’y now’n den Brer Babbit’d bust out in 
er laff, en ole Brer Fox, he’d git a spell er de dry grins.” 

* As a Northern friend suggests that this story may be some¬ 
what obscure, it may be as well to state that the well is supposed to 
be supplied with a rope over a wheel, or pulley, with a bucket at 
each end. 






80 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


XVII. 


MR. RABBIT NIBBLES*UP TEE BUTTER. 

“ Be animils en de creeturs,” said Uncle Remus, 
shaking his coffee around in the bottom of his tin-cup, 
in order to gather up all the sugar, “ dey kep’ on git- 
tin’ mo’ en mo’ familious wid wunner nudder, twel 
bimeby, ’twan’t long ’fo’ Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, 
en Brer Possum got ter sorter bunchin’ der perwishuns 
tergedder in de same shanty. Atter w’ile de roof* 
sorter ’gun ter leak, en one day Brer Rabbit, en Brer 
Fox, en Brer Possum, ’semble fer ter see ef dey can’t 
kinder patch her up. Bey had a big day’s work in 
front un um, en dey fotch der dinner wid um. Bey 
lump de vittles up in one pile, en de butter w’at Brer 
Fox brung, dey goes en puts in de spring-’ouse fer ter 
keep cool, en den dey went ter wuk, en ’twan’t long 
’fo’ Brer Rabbit stummuck ’gun ter sorter growl en 
pester ’im. Bat butter er Brer Fox sot heavy on his 
mine, en his mouf water eve’y time he ’member ’bout 
it. Present’y he say ter hisse’f dat he bleedzd ter have 
a nip at dat butter, en den he lay his plans, he did. 
Fus’ news you know, w’ile dey wuz all wukkin’ ’long, 
Brer Rabbit raise his head quick en fling his years 
forrerd en holler out: 

“ 4 Here I is. W’at you want wid me ? ’ en off 
he put like sump’n wuz atter ’im. 


MR. RABBIT NIBBLES UP THE BUTTER. 


81 


“ He sallied ’roun’, ole Brer Babbit did, en atter 
be make sho dat nobody ain’t foller’n un ’im, inter de 
spring-’ouse lie bounces, 
en dar be stays twel be 
git a bait er butter. Den 
he santer on back en go 
to wuk. 

“‘Whar you bin?’ 
sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ ‘ I bear my cliilluns 
callin’ me,’ sez Brer Bab¬ 
bit, sezee, 4 en I batter 
go see w’at dey want. 

My ole ’oman done gone 
en tuck mighty sick,’ 
sezee. 

44 Dey wuk on twel 
bimeby de butter tas’e so good dat ole Brer Babbit 
want some mo’. Den he raise up his head, be did, en 
holler out: 

44 4 Heyo ! Hole on ! I’m a cornin’! ’ en off he put. 

44 Dis time he stay right smart w’ile, en w’en he git 
back Brer Fox ax him whar he bin. 

44 4 1 been ter see my ole ’oman, en she’s a sinkin’,’ 
sezee. 

44 Dreckly Brer Babbit hear um callin’ ’im ag’in en 
off he goes, en dis time, bless yo’ soul, he gits de butter 
out so clean dat he kin see hisse’f in de bottom er de 



82 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

bucket. He scrape it clean en lick it dry, en den he 
go back ter wuk lookin’ mo’ samer dan a nigger w’at 
de patter-rollers bin had holt un. 

“‘ How’s yo’ ole ’oman dis time ? ’ sez Brer Fox, 
sezee. 

“ ‘ I’m oblije ter you, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, 
sezee, ‘ but I’m fear’d she’s done gone by now,’ en dat 
sorter make Brer Fox en Brer Possum feel in moanin’ 
wid Brer Rabbit. 

“ Bimeby, w’en dinner-time come, dey all got out 
der vittles, but Brer Rabbit keep on lookin’ lonesome, 
en Brer Fox en Brer Possum dey sorter rustle roun’ 
fer ter see ef dey can’t make Brer Rabbit feel sorter 
splimmy.” 

“ What is that, Uncle Remus ? ” asked the little 
boy. 

“ Sorter splimmy-splammy, honey—sorter like he 
in a crowd—sorter like his ole ’oman ain’t dead ez she 
mout be. ^ ou know how fokes duz w’en dey gits 
whar people’s a moanin’.” 

The little boy didn’t know, fortunately for him, 
and Uncle Remus went on: 

“ Brer Fox en Brer Possum rustle roun’, dey did, 
gittin out de vittles, en bimeby Brer Fox, he say, 
sezee : 

Brer Possum, you run down ter de spring en 
fetch de butter, en I’ll sail ’roun’ yer en set de table,’ 
sezee. 


MR. RABBIT NIBBLES UP THE BUTTER. 83 

“Brer Possum, he lope off atter de butter, en 
dreckly here he come lopin’ back wid his years a 
trimblin’ en his tongue a hangin’ out. Brer Fox, he 
holler out: 

“ ‘ W’at de matter now, Brer Possum ? ’ sezee. 

“ ‘ You all better run yer, fokes,’ sez Brer Possum, 
sezee. k De las’ drap er dat butter done gone ! 9 

“ ‘ Whar she gone ? ’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

“ ‘ Look like she dry up,’ sez Brer Possum, sezee. 

“ Den Brer Rabbit, he look sorter solium, he did, 
en he up’n say, sezee. 

“ ‘ I speck dat butter melt in somebody mouf,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den dey went down ter de spring wid Brer Pos¬ 
sum, en sho nuff de butter done gone. W’iles dey 
wuz sputin’ over der wunderment, Brer Rabbit say he 
see tracks all ’roun’ dar, en he p’int out dat ef dey’ll 
all go ter sleep, he kin ketch de chap w’at stole de 
butter. Den dey all lie down en Brer Fox en Brer 
Possum dey soon drapt off ter sleep, but Brer Rabbit 
he stay ’wake, en w’en de time come he raise up easy 
en smear Brer Possum mouf wid de butter on his 
paws, en den he run off en nibble up de bes’ er de 
dinner w’at dey lef’ layin’ out, en den he come back 
en wake up Brer .Fox, en show ’im de butter on Brer 
Possum mouf. Den dey wake up Brer Possum, en 
tell ’im ’bout it, but c’ose Brer Possum ’ny it ter de 
las’. Brer Fox, dough, he’s a kinder lawyer, en he 


84 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 



r 2, 

rv 




(( 


(T 






fs 


’h 




in a cornder, en 
den he up en say 
dat de way fer ter 


argafy dis way—dat Brer Possum wuz de fus one at 
de butter, en de fus one fer ter miss it, en mo’n dat, 
dar hang de signs on his mouf. Brer Pos¬ 
sum see dat dey 
got ’im jammed up 


ketch de man w’at 


stole de butter is ter b’il’ a big bresh-heap en set her 
afier, en all ban’s try ter jump over, en de one w’at 
fall in, den he de chap w’at stole de butter. Brer 
Rabbit en Brer Fox dey bofe ’gree, dey did, en dey 
whirl in en b’il’ de bresh-heap, en dey b’il’ her high en 
dey b’il’ her wide, en den dey toteh her off. W’en she 
got ter blazin’ up good, Brer Rabbit, he tuck de fus 
turn. He sorter step back, en look ’roun’ en giggle, 




MR. RABBIT NIBBLES UP THE BUTTER. 85 

en over he went mo’ samer dan a bird flyin’. Den 
come Brer Fox. He got back little fudder, en spit 
on bis ban’s, en lit out en made de jump, en be come 

so nigb gittin’ in dat 



a tone that implied both conciliation and information. 

The little boy thought probably he had, but be 
wouldn’t commit himself. 


“ Well, den,” continued the old man, “ nex’ time 
you see one un um, you look right close en see ef de 
een’ er his tail ain’t w’ite. Hit’s des like I tell you. 
Dey b’ars de skyar er dat bresb-heap down ter dis day. 
Dey er marked—dat’s w’at dey is—dey er marked.” 


86 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

“ An 'l what about Brother Possum ? ” asked the 
little boy. 

“ 01e ® rer Possum, he tuck a runnin’ start, he did, 
en he come lumberin’ ’long, en he lit—kerblam !— 
right in de middle er de fier, en dat wuz de las’ er ole 
Brer Possum.” 

“ But, Uncle Remus, Brother Possum didn’t steal 
the butter after all,” said the little boy, who was not at 
all satisfied with such summary injustice. 

“ Dat w’at make I say w’at I duz, honey. In dis 
worril. lots er fokes is gotter suffer fer udder fokes 
sins. Look like hit’s mighty onwrong; but hit’s des 
dat away. Tribbalashun seem like she’s a waitin’ 
roun’ de cornder fer ter ketch one en all un us, 
honey.” 


XVIII. 

ME. RABBIT FINDS HIS MATCH AT LAST. 

“ Hit l°°k like ter me dat I let on de udder night 
dat in dem days w’en de creeturs wuz santer’n ’roun’ 
same like fokes, none un nm wuz brash nufif fer ter 
ketch up wid Brer Rabbit,” remarked Uncle Remus, 
reflectively. 

“Yes,” replied the little boy, “that’s what you 
said.” 

“ Well, den,” continued the old man with unction, 


MR. RABBIT FINDS HIS MATCH AT LAST. 87 


“ dar’s whar my ’membunce gin out, kaze Brer Rabbit 
did git kotched up wid, en hit cool ’im off like po’in’ 
spring water on one er deze yer biggity fices.” 

“ How was that, Uncle Remus ? ” asked the little 
boy. 

“ One day w’en Brer Rabbit wuz gwine lippity- 
clippitin’ down de road, he meet up wid ole Brer 
Tarrypin, en atter dey pass de time er day wid wunner 
nudder, Brer Rabbit, he ’low dat he wuz much ’blije 
ter Brer Tarrypin fer de han’ he tuck in de rumpus 
dat day down at Miss Meadows’s.” 

“ When he dropped off of the water-shelf on the 
Fox’s head,” suggested the little boy. 

“ Dat’s de same time, honey. Den Brer Tarrypin 
’low dat Brer Fox run mighty fas’ dat day, 
but dat ef he’d er bin atter ’im stidder 
Brer Rabbit, he’d er kotch ’im. Brer 
Rabbit say he could er kotch ’im hisse’f 
but he didn’t 
keer’bout leav¬ 
in’ de ladies. 

Dey keep on 
talkin’, dey did, 
twel bimeby 
dey gotter ’spu- 
tin’ ’bout w’ich 

wuz de swif’es’. Brer Rabbit, he say he kin outrun 
Brer Tarrypin, en Brer Tarrypin, he des vow dat he 



- — - 


88 LEGENDS OP THE OLD PLANTATION. 

kin outrun Brer Babbit. Up en down dey had it, twel 
fus news you know Brer Tarrypin say he got a fifty- 
dollar bill in de chink er de chirably at home, en dat 
bill done tole ’im dat he could beat Brer Babbit in 
a fa’r race. Den Brer Babbit say he got a fifty-dol- 
lar bill w’at say dat he kin leave Brer Tarrypin so fur 
behime, dat he could sow barley ez he went ’long en 
hit ’ud be ripe nuff fer ter cut by de time Brer Tar¬ 
rypin pass dat way. 

“ Enny how dey make de bet en put up de money, 
en ole Brer Tukky Buzzard, he wuz summonzd fer 
ter be de jedge, en de stakeholder; en ’twan’t long ’fo’ 
all de Tangements wuz made. De race wuz a five-mile 
heat, en de groun’ wuz medjud off, en at de een’ er 
ev ey mile a pos’ wuz stuck up. Brer Babbit wuz ter 
run down de big road, en Brer Tarrypin, he say he’d 
gallup thoo de woods. Fokes tole ’im he could git 
long faster in de road, but ole Brer Tarrypin, he know 
w at he doin’. Miss Meadows en de gals en mos’ all de 
nabers got win’ er de fun, en w’en de day wuz sot dey 
termin fer ter be on ban’. Brer Babbit he train his- 
se’f ev’ey day, en he skip over de groun’ des ez gayly ez 
a June cricket. Ole Brer Tarrypin, he lay low in de 
swamp. He had a wife en th’ee chilluns, ole Brer 
Tarrypin did, en dey wuz all de ve’y spit en image er de 
ole man. Ennybody w’at know one fum de udder gotter 
take a spy-glass, en den dey er li’ble fer ter git fooled. 

“ Dat’s de way marters stan’ twel de day er de 


MR. RABBIT FINDS HIS MATCH AT LAST. 89 

race, en on dat day, ole Brer Tarrypin, en his ole 
’oman, en his th’ee chilluns, dey got up ’fo’ sun-up, en 
went ter de place. De ole ’oman, she tuck ’er stan’ 
nigh de fus’ mile-pos’, she did, en de chilluns nigh de 
udders, up ter de las’, en dar old Brer Tarrypin, he 
tuck his stan’. Bimeby, here come de fokes : Jedge 
Buzzard, he come, en Miss Meadows en de gals, dey 
come, en den yer come Brer Babbit wid ribbins tied 
’roun’ his neck en streamin’ fum his years. De fokes 
all went ter de udder een’ er de track fer ter see how 
dey come out. W’en de time come Jedge Buzzard 
strut ’roun’ en pull out his watch, en holler out: 

“ ‘ Gents, is you ready \ ’ 

“ Brer Babbit, he say ‘ yes,’ en ole Miss 
Tarrypin holler ‘ go ’ fum de aidge er de 
woods. Brer Babbit, he lit out on de 
race, en ole Miss Tarrypin, she put out 
for home. Jedge 
Buzzard, he riz 
en skimmed 
’long fer ter 
see dat de race 
wuz runned 
fa’r. W’en Brer 
Babbit got ter 
de fus mile-pos’ wunner de Tarrypin chilluns crawl out 
de woods, he did, en make fer de place. Berr Babbit, 

he holler out: 

8 





90 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ ‘ Whar is you, Brer Tarrypin ?’ 

“ ‘ Yer I come a bulgin’,’ sez de Tarrypin, sezee. 

“Brer Rabbit so glad he’s ahead dat he put out 
harder dan ever, en de Tarrypin, he make fer home. 
W’en he come ter de nex’ pos’, nudder Tarrypin crawl 
out er de woods. 

“ ‘ Whar is you, Brer Tarrypin ? ’ sez Brer Rabbit, 
sezee. 

“ ‘ Yer I come a bilin’,’ sez de Tarrypin, sezee. 

“ Brer Rabbit, he lit out, he did, en come ter nex’ 
,pos’, en dar wuz de Tarrypin. Den he come ter nex’, 
en dar wuz de Tarrypin. Den he 
had one mo’ mile fer ter run, en 
he feel like he gittin’ bel- 
lust. Bimeby, ole Brer 
Tarrypin 
way off 
de road en 
see Jedge Buz 
zard 

’long en 
know hit’s ti 
fer ’im fer 
be up. So he 

scramble outen de woods, en roll ’cross de ditch, en 
shuffle thoo de crowd er folks en git ter de mile- 
pos’ en crawl behime it. Bimeby, fus’ news you 
know, yer come Brer Rabbit. lie look ’roun’ en 



MR. RABBIT FINDS HIS MATCH AT LAST. 91 

he don’t see Brer Tarrypin, en den he squall 
out: 

“ ‘ Gimme de money, Brer Buzzard ! Gimme de 
money! ’ 

“ Den Miss Meadows en de gals, dey holler and laft 
fit ter kill deyse’f, en ole Brer Tarrypin, he raise up 
fum behime de pos’ en sez, sezee : 

“‘Ef you’ll gimme time fer ter ketch my breff, 
gents en ladies, one en all, I speck I’ll finger dat 
money myse f, sezee, en sho nuff, Brer Tarrypin tie 
de pu’s ’roun’ his neck en skaddle * off home.” 

“ But, Uncle Bemus,” said the little boy, dolefully, 
“ that was cheating.” 

“ Co’se, honey. De creeturs ’gun ter cheat, en 
den fokes tuck it up, en hit keep on spreadin’. Hit 
mighty ketchin’, en you mine yo’ eye, honey, dat some¬ 
body don’t cheat you ’fo’ yo’ ha’r git gray ez de ole 
nigger’s.” 

* It may be interesting to note here that in all probability the 
word “ skedaddle,” about which there was some controversy during 
the war, came from the Virginia negro’s use of “ skaddle,” which is 
a corruption of “ scatter.” The matter, however, is hardly worth 
referring to. 



92 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


XIX. 

TEE FATE OF MR. JACK SPARROW. 

“ You’ll tromple on dat bark twel hit won’t be 
titten fer ter fling ’way, let ’lone make boss-collars 
out n, said Uncle Remus, as the little boy came run¬ 
ning into his cabin out of the rain. All over the floor 
long strips of “ wahoo ” bark were spread,, and these 
the old man was weaving into horse-collars. 

“ I’ll sit down, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy. 

“ Well, den, you better, honey,” responded the old 
man, “ kaze I ’spizes fer ter have my wahoo trompled on. 
Ef ’twuz shucks, now, hit mout be diffunt, but I’m a 
gittin’ too ole fer ter be projickin’ longer shuck collars.” 

Eor a few minutes the old man went on with his 
work, but with a solemn air altogether unusual. Once 
or twice he sighed deeply, and the sighs ended in a 
prolonged groan, that seemed to the little boy to be 
the result of the most unspeakable mental agony. He 
knew by experience that he had done something which 
failed to meet the approval of Uncle Remus, and he 
tried to remember what it was, so as to frame an ex¬ 
cuse ; but his memory failed him. He could think of 
nothing he had done calculated to stir Uncle Remus’s 
grief. He was not exactly seized with remorse, but he 
was very uneasy. Presently Uncle Remus looked at 
him in a sad and hopeless way, and asked : 


THE FATE OF MR. JACK SPARROW. 


93 


“ W’at dat long rigmarole you bin tellin’ Miss 
Sally ’bout yo’ little brer dis mawnin ? ” 

“ Which, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy, 
blushing guiltily. 

“ Dat des w’at I’m a axin’ un you now. I hear 
Miss Sally say she’s a gwineter stripe his jacket, en 
den I knowed you bin tellin’ on ’im.” 

“ Well, Uncle Remus, he was pulling up your 
onions, and then he went and flung a rock at me,” 
said the child, plaintively. 

“ Lemme tell you dis,” said the old man, laying 
down the section of horse-collar he had been plaiting, 
and looking hard at the little boy—“ lemme tell you 
dis—der ain’t no way fer ter make tattlers en tail- 
b’arers turn out good. No, dey ain’t. I bin mixin’ 
up wid fokes now gwine on eighty year, en I ain’t 
seed no tattler come ter no good een’. Dat I ain’t. 
En ef ole man M’thoozlum wuz livin’ clean twel yit, 
he’d up’n tell you de same. Sho ez youer settin’ dar. 
You ’member w’at ’come er de bird w’at went tattlin’ 
’roun’ ’bout Brer Rabbit ? ” 

The little boy didn’t remember, but he was very 
anxious to know, and he also wanted to know what 
kind of a bird it was that so disgraced itself. 

“ Hit wuz wunner dese yer uppity little Jack 
Sparrers, I speck,” said the old man ; “ dey wuz allers 
bodder’n’ longer udder fokes’s bizness, en dey keeps at 
it down ter dis day—peckin’ yer, en pickin’ dar, en 


V. 


scratchin’ out yander. One 
day, atter he bin fool by ole Brer 
Tarrypin, Brer Babbit wuz settin’ 
down in de woods studdyin’ how 
he wuz gwineter git even. He feel 
mighty lonesome, en he feel mighty 
mad, Brer Babbit did. Tain’t put 
down in de tale, but I speck he 
cusst en r’ar’d ’roun’ consid- 
erbul. Leas’ways, he wuz 
settin’ out dar by his- 
se’f, en dar he sot, en 
study en study, twel 
bimeby he jump up 
en holler out: 

“ ‘ Well, dog¬ 
gone my cats ef I can’t / 
gallop ’roun’ ole Brer - 
Fox, en I’m gwineter r ^ / 
do it. I’ll show Miss . /> 
Meadows en de gals dat j(/ \ 

I’m de boss er Brer 
Fox’ sezee. 

fii 

“ Jack Sparrer up 


94 


THE FATE OF MR. JACK SPARROW. 95 

in de tree, he hear Brer Rabbit, he did, en he sing 
out: 

“ ‘ I’m gwine tell Brer Fox ! I’m gwine tell Brer 
Fox! Chick-a-biddy-win’-a-bio win’-acuns-f allin’d I’m 
gwine tell Brer Fox ! ’ ” 

Uncle Remus accompanied the speech of the bird 
with a peculiar whistling sound in his throat, that was 
a marvelous imitation of a sparrow’s chirp, and the 
little boy clapped his hands with delight, and insisted 
on a repetition. 

“ Dis kinder tarrify Brer Rabbit, en he skasely 
know w’at he gwine do; but bimeby he study ter 
hisse’f dat de man w’at see Brer Fox fus wuz boun’ 
ter have de inturn, en den he go hoppin’ off to’rds 
home. He didn’t got fur w’en who should he meet 
but Brer Fox, en den Brer Rabbit, he open up : • 

“ ‘ W’at dis twix’ you en me, Brer Fox ? ’ sez Brer 
Rabbit, sezee. ‘ I hear tell you gwine ter sen’ me ter 
’struckshun, en nab my fambly, en ’stroy my shanty,’ 
sezee. 

“ Den Brer Fox he git mighty mad. 

“ 6 Who bin tellin’ you all dis ? ’ sezee. 

“ Brer Rabbit make like he didn’t want ter tell, but 
Brer Fox he ’sist en ’sist, twel at las’ Brer Rabbit he 
up en tell Brer Fox dat he hear Jack Sparrer say 
all dis. 

“ 4 Co’se,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘ w’en Brer Jack 
Sparrer tell me dat I flew up, I did, en I use some 


96 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


langwidge w’ich I’m mighty glad dey wern’t no ladies 
’roun’ nowhars so dey could hear me go on,’ sezee. 

“ Brer Fox he sorter gap, he did, en say he speck 
he better be sa’nter’n on. But, bless yo’ soul, honey, 
Brer Fox ain’t sa’nter fur, ’fo’ Jack Sparrer flipp 
down on a ’simmon-bush by de side er de road, en 
holler out: 

“ 4 Brer Fox! Oh, Brer Fox !—Brer Fox ! 9 

44 Brer Fox he des sorter canter ’long, he did, en 
make like he don’t hear ’im. Den Jack Sparrer up’n 
sing out agin : 

“ 4 Brer Fox! Oh, Brer Fox! Hole on, Brer 
Fox! I got some news fer you. Wait Brer Fox! 
Hit’ll ’stonish you.’ 

44 Brer Fox he make like he don’t see Jack Sparrer, 
ner needer do he hear ’im, but bimeby he lay down by 
de road, en sorter stretch hisse’f like he fixin’ fer ter 



nap. De tattlin’ Jack Sparrer 
he flew’d ’long, en keep on 
callin’ Brer Fox, but Brer Fox, 
he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’. Den 


little Jack 


Sparrer, he 
hop down on 
de groun’ en 
flutter ’roun’ 
’mongst de 
trash. Dis 


THE FATE OF MR. JACK SPARROW. 97 

sorter ’track Brer Fox ’tenshun, en he look at de 
tattlin’ bird, en de bird he keep on callin’ : 

“ ‘ I got sump’n fer ter tell you, Brer Fox.’ 

“ ‘ Git on my tail, little Jack Sparrer,’ sez Brer 
Fox, sezee, ‘kaze I’m de’f in one year, en I can’t hear 
out’n de udder. Git on my tail,’ sezee. 

“ Den de little bird he up’n hop on Brer Fox’s tail. 

“ ‘ Git on my back, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I’m 
de’f in one year en I can’t hear out’n de udder.’ 

“ Den de little bird hop on his back. 

“‘Hop on my head, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I’m 
de’f in bofe years.’ 

“ Up hop de little bird. 

“ ‘ Hop on my toof, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I’m 
de’f in one year en I can’t hear out’n de udder.’ 

“ De tattlin’ little bird hop on Brer Fox’s toof, en 
den—” 

Here Uncle Remus paused, opened wide his mouth 
and closed it again in a way that told the whole 
story. * 

* An Atlanta friend heard this story in Florida, but an alli¬ 
gator was substituted for the fox, and a little boy for the rabbit. 
There is another version in which the impertinent gosling goes to 
tell the fox something her mother has said, and is caught; and 
there may be other versions. I have adhered to the middle 
Georgia version, which is characteristic enough. It may be well to 
state that there are different versions of all the stories—the shrewd 
narrators of the mythology of the old plantation adapting them¬ 
selves with ready tact to the years, tastes, and expectations of their 
juvenile audiences. 



98 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

“ Did the Fox eat the bird all—all—up ? ” asked 
the little boy. 

“ Jedge B’ar come ’long nex’ day,” replied Uncle 
Remus, “ en he fine some fedders, en fum dat word 
went roun’ dat ole man Squinch Owl done kotch nud- 
der watzizname.” 


HOW MR. RABBIT SAVED HIS MEAT. 

“ One time,” said Uncle Remus, whetting his knife 
slowly and thoughtfully on the palm of his hand, and 
gazing reflectively in the fire — 66 one time Brer 
Wolf—” 

u Why, Uncle Remus!” the little boy broke in, 
“ 1 thought you said the Rabbit scalded the Wolf to 
death a long time ago.” 

The old man was fairly caught and he knew it \ 
but this made little difference to him. A frown 
gathered on his usually serene brow as he turned his 
gaze upon the child—a frown in which both scorn and 
indignation were visible. Then all at once he seemed 
to regain control of himself. The frown was chased 
away by a look of Christian resignation. 

Dar now ! W’at I tell you ? ” he exclaimed as 
if addressing a witness concealed under the bed. 
“ Ain?t 1 done tole you so ? Bless grashus ! ef chilluns 
ain’t gittin’ so dey knows mo’n ole fokes, en dey’ll 


HOW MR. RABBIT SAVED HIS MEAT. 


99 


spute longer you en spute longer you, ceppin der ma 
call um, w’ich I speck twon’t be long ’fo’ she will, en 
den I’ll set yere by de chimbly-cornder en git some 
peace er mine. W’en ole Miss wuz livin’,” continued 
the old man, still addressing some imaginary person, 
“hit ’uz mo’n enny her chilluns ’ud dast ter do ter 
come ’sputin’ longer me, en Mars John’ll tell you de 
6 ame enny day you ax ’im.” 

“Well, Uncle Remus, you know you said the 
Rabbit poured hot water on the Wolf and killed him,” 
said the little boy. 

The old man pretended not to hear. He was en¬ 
gaged in searching among some scraps of leather under 
his chair, and kept on talking to the imaginary person. 
Finally, he found and drew forth a nicely plaited 
whip-thong with a red snapper all waxed and knotted. 

“ I wuz fixin’ up a w’ip fer a little chap,” he con¬ 
tinued, with a sigh, “ but, bless grashus ! ’fo’ I kin git 
’er done, de little chap done grow’d up twel he know 
mo’n I duz.” 

The child’s eyes filled with tears and his lips began 
to quiver, but he said nothing; whereupon Uncle 
Remus immediately melted. 

“I ’clar’ to goodness,” he said, reaching out and 
taking the little boy tenderly by the hand, “ ef you 
ain’t de ve’y spit en image er ole Miss w’en I brung 
’er de las’ news er de war. Hit’s des like skeerin’ up 
a ghos’ w’at you ain’t fear’d un.” 


100 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


Then there was a pause, the old man patting the 
little child’s hand caressingly. 

“You ain’t mad, is you, honey?” Uncle Remus 
asked finally, “ kaze ef you is, I’m gwine out yere en 
butt my head ’gin de do’ jam’.” 

But the little boy wasn’t mad. Uncle Remus had 


conquered him and he had conquered Uncle Remus 
in pretty much the same way before. But it was some 
time before Uncle Remus would go on with the story. 
He had to be coaxed. At last, however, he settled 


himself back in the chair and began : 

“ Co’se, honey, hit mout er bin ole 
Brer Wolf, er hit mout er bin er n’er 
Brer Wolf ; it mout er bin ’fo’ he got 
kotch up wid, er it mout er bin atter- 
wards. Ez de tale wer gun to me des 
dat away I gin it unter you. One 
time Brer Wolf wuz cornin’ ’long 
home fum a fishin’ frolic. He s’anter 
’long de road, he did, wid his string 
er fish ’cross his shoulder, wen fus 
news you know ole 
Miss Pa’tridge, she 
hop outer de bushes 
en flutter ’long right 
at Brer Wolf nose. 
Brer Wolf he say ter 
hisse’f dat ole Miss 




HOW MR. RABBIT SAVED HIS MEAT. 


101 


Pa’tridge tryin’ fer ter toll ’im ’way fum her lies’, en 
wid dat he lay his fish down en put out inter de bushes 
whar ole Miss Pa’tridge come fum, en ’bout dat time 
Brer Rabbit, he happen ’long. Dar wuz de fishes, en 
dar wuz Brer Rabbit, en w’en dat de case w’at you 
speck a sorter innerpen’ent man like Brer Rabbit 
gwine do ? I kin tell you dis, dat dem fishes ain’t stay 
whar Brer Wolf put um at, en w’en Brer Wolf come 
back dey wuz gone. 

“ Brer Wolf, he sot down en scratch his head, he 
did, en study en study, en den hit sorter rush inter 
his mine dat Brer Rabbit bin ’long dar, en den Brer 
Wolf, he put out fer Brer Rabbit house, en w’en he 
git dar he hail ’im. Brer Rabbit, he dunno nuthin’ 
tall ’bout no fishes. Brer Wolf he up’n say he bleedzd 
ter b’leeve Brer Rabbit got dem fishes. Brer Rabbit 
’ny it up en down, but Brer Wolf stan’ to it dat Brer 
Rabbit got dem fishes. Brer Rabbit, he say dat if 
Brer Wolf b’leeve he got de fishes, den he give Brer 
Wolf lief fer ter kill de bes’ cow he got. Brer Wolf, 
he tuck Brer Rabbit at his word, en go off ter de 
pastur’ en drive up de cattle en kill Brer Rabbit bes’ 
cow. 

“ Brer Rabbit, he hate mighty bad fer ter lose his 
cow, but he lay his plans, en he tell his chilluns dat 
he gwineter have dat beef yit. Brer Wolf, he bin 
tuck up by de patter-rollers ’fo’ now, en he mighty 
skeerd un um, en fus news you know, yer come Brer 


102 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


Rabbit hollerin’ en tellin’ Brer Wolf dat de patter- 
rollers cornin’. 

444 You run en hide, Brer Wolf,’ sez Brer Rabbit, 
sezee, 4 en I’ll stay yer en take keer er de cow twel you 
gits back,’ sezee. 

44 Soon’s Brer Wolf hear talk er de patter-rollers, 
he scramble off inter de underbresh like he bin shot 
out’n a gun. En he want mo’n gone ’fo’ Brer Rabbit, 
he whirl in en skunt de cow en salt de hide down, en 

den he tuck’n cut up de kyarkiss en stow it ’way in de 

smoke-’ouse, en den he tuck’n stick de een’ er de cow- 
tail in de groun’. Atter he gone en done all dis, den 
Brer Rabbit he squall out fer Brer Wolf: 

44 4 Run yer, Brer Wolf! Run yer! Yo’ cow 
gwine in de groun’! Run yer! ’ 

44 W’en ole Brer Wolf got dar, w’ich he come er 
scootin’, dar wuz Brer Rabbit hol’in’ on ter de cow- 
tail, fer ter keep it fum gwine in de groun’. Brer 

Wolf, he kotch holt, en dey ’gin a pull er two en up 

come de tail. Den Brer Rabbit, he wink his off eye 
en say, sezee : 

44 4 Dar! de tail done pull out en de cow gone,’ 
sezee. 

44 But Brer Wolf he wer’n’t de man fer ter give it 
up dat away, en he got ’im a spade, en a pick-axe, en a 
shovel, en he dig en dig fer dat cow twel diggin’ wuz 
pas’ all endu’unce, en ole Brer Rabbit he sot up dar in 
his front po’ch en smoke his seegyar. Eve’y time ole 





* 



“Run yer, Brer Wolf! Yo’ cow gwine in de groun’.” 


( 












MR. RABBIT MEETS HIS MATCH AGAIN. 103 

Brer Wolf stuck de pick-axe in de clay, Brer Babbit, 
he giggle ter his ehilluns : 

“ ‘ iIe di ggy> diggy. d'ggy, but no meat dar ! He 
diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar ! 5 

“ Base all de time de cow wuz lay in’ pile up in his 
smoke-’ouse, en him en his ehilluns wuz eatin’ fried 
beef en inguns eve’y time dey mouf water. 

“ How den, honey, you take dis yer w’ip,” con¬ 
tinued the old man, twining the leather thong around 
the little boy’s neck, “ en scamper up ter de big ’ouse 
en tell Miss Sally fer ter gin you some un it de nex’ 
time she fine yo’ tracks in de sugar-bairl.” 


XXI. 

MR. RABBIT MEETS HIS MATCH AGAIN. 

“ Dere wuz nudder man dat sorter play it sharp on 
Brer Babbit,” said Uncle Bemus, as, by some myste¬ 
rious process, he twisted a hog’s bristle into the end of 
a piece of thread—an operation which the little boy 
watched with great interest. “ In dem days,” com 
tinued the old man, “ de creeturs kyar’d on marters 
same ez fokes. Dey went inter fahmin’, en I speck ef 
de troof wuz ter come out, dey kep’ sto’, en had der 
camp-meetin’ times en der bobbycues w’en de wedder 
wuz ’greeble.” 

Uncle Bemus evidently thought that the little boy 


104 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

wouldn’t like to hear of any further discomfiture of 
Brer Babbit, who had come to be a sort of hero, and 
he was not mistaken. 

“ I thought the Terrapin was the only one that 
fooled the Babbit,” said the little boy, dismally. 

“ Hit’s des like I tell you, honey. Dey ain’t no 
smart man, ’cep’ w’at dey’s a smarter. Ef ole Brer 
Babbit hadn’t er got kotch up wid, de nabers ’ud er 
took ’im for a h’ant, en in dem times dey bu’nt 
witches ’fo’ you could squinch yo’ eyeballs. Dey did 
dat.” 

“ Who fooled the Babbit this time ? ” the little boy 
asked. 

When Uncle Benaus had the bristle “ sot ” in the 
thread, he proceeded with the story : 

“ One time Brer Babbit en ole Brer Buzzard 
’eluded dey’d sorter go snacks, en crap tergedder. Hit 
wuz a mighty good year, en de truck tu’n out monstus 
well, but bimeby, w’en de time come fer dividjun, hit 
come ter light dat ole Brer Buzzard ain’t got nuthin’. 
De crap wuz all gone, en dey want nuthin’ dar fer ter 
show fer it. Brer Babbit, he make like he in a wuss 
fix’n Brer Buzzard, en he mope ’roun’, he did, like he 
fear’d dey gwineter sell ’im out. 

“ Brer Buzzard, he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but he keep 
up a monstus thinkin’, en one day he come ’long en 
holler en tell Brer Babbit dat he done fine rich gole- 
mine des ’cross de river. 


MR. RABBIT MEETS HIS MATCH AGAIN. 105 


“/You come en go ’longer me, Brer Babbit,’ sez 
Brer Tukky Buzzard, sezee. ‘ I’ll scratch en you kin 
grabble, en ’tween de two nn us we’ll make 



how he gwineter git 


’cross de water, kaze ev’y time he git his foot wet all 
de fambly kotch cole. Den he up’n ax Brer Buzzard 
how he gwine do, en Brer Buzzard he up’n say dat 
he kyar Brer Babbit ’cross, en wid dat ole Brer Buz¬ 
zard, he squot down, he did, en spread his wings, en 
Brer Babbit, he mounted, en up dey riz.” There was 
pause. 

“ What did the Buzzard do then ? ” asked the 
little boy. 

“ Dey riz,” continued Uncle Bemus, “ en w’en dey 

lit, dey lit in de top er de highest sorter pine, en de 
9 





106 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

pine w’at dey lit in wuz growin’ on er ilnn, en de ilnn 
wuz in de middle er de river, wid de deep water 
runnin’ all ’roun’. Dey ain’t 
mo’n lit ’fo’ Brer Babbit, he 
know w’icli way de win’ ’uz 
blowin’, en by de time ole Brer 
Buzzard got hisse’f ballunce on 
a lim’, Brer Babbit, he 
up’n say, sezee: 

“ £ W’iles we er res’n 
here, Brer Buzzard, en 
bein’s you bin so good, I 
got sump’n fer ter tell you,’ 
sezee. ‘ I got a gole-mine er 
my own, one w’at I make my- 
se’f, en I speck we better go, back ter mine ’fo’ we 
bodder ’longer yone,’ sezee. 

“ Den ole Brer Buzzard, he laff, he did, twel he 
shake, en Brer Babbit, he sing out: 

“ ‘ Hole on, Brer Buzzard ! Don’t flop yo’ wings 
w’en you laff, kaze den ef you duz, sump’n ’ill drap 
fum up yer, en my gole-mine won’t do you no good, 
en needer will yone do me no good.’ 

“ But ’fo’ dey got down fum dar, Brer Babbit 
done tole all ’bout de crap, en he hatter promus fer 
ter ’vide fa’r en squar 0 So Brer Buzzard, he kyar ’im 
back, en Brer Babbit he walk weak in de knees a 
mont’ atterwuds.” 



A STORY ABOUT THE LITTLE RABBITS. 107 


XXII. 

A STORY ABOUT THE LITTLE RABBITS. 

“ Fine um whar you will en w’en you may,” re¬ 
marked Uncle Remus with emphasis, “ good chilluns 
allers gits tuck keer on. Dar wuz Brer Rabbit’s 
chilluns ; dey minded der daddy en mammy fum day’s 
een’ ter day’s een’. W’en ole man Rabbit say ‘ scoot,’ 
dey scooted, en w’en ole Miss Rabbit say ‘ scat,’ dey 
scatted. Dey did dat. En dey kep der cloze clean, 
en dey ain’t had no smut on der nose nudder.” 

Involuntarily the hand of the little boy went up to 
his face, and he scrubbed the end of his nose with his 
coat-sleeve. 

“ Dey wuz good chilluns,” continued the old man, 
heartily, “ en ef dey hadn’t er bin, der wuz one time 
w’en dey wouldn’t er bin no little rabbits—na’er one. 
Dat’s w’at.” 

“ What time was that, Uncle Remus ? ” the little 
boy asked. 

“ De time w’en Brer Fox drapt in at Brer Rabbit 
house, en didn’t foun’ nobody dar ceppin’ de little 
Rabbits. Ole Brer Rabbit, he wuz off some’rs raiding 
on a collard patch, en ole Miss Rabbit she wuz tendin’ 
on a quiltin’ in de naberhood, en wiles de little Rabbits 
wuz playin’ hidin’-switch, in drapt Brer Fox. De lit¬ 
tle Rabbits wuz so fat dat dey fa’rly make his mouf 


108 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


water, but lie ’member ’bout Brer Wolf, en he skeered 
fer ter gobble um up ceppin’ he got some skuse. De 


’-‘ttle Rabbits, dey 
lighty skittish, en 
ey sorter huddle 
eyse’f up ter- 



gedder en watch 


Brer Fox mo¬ 


tions. Brer 
Fox, he sot 


dar en study 


w’at sorter skuse he 
gwineter make up. 
Bimeby he see a great big 


stalk er sugar-cane stan’in’ up in de cornder, en he cle’r 
up his th’oat en talk biggity: 

“ £ Yer! you young Rabs dar, sail ’roun’ yer en 
broke me a piece er dat sweetnin’-tree,’ sezee, en den 
he koff. 

“ De little Rabbits, dey got out de sugar-cane, dey 
did, en dey rastle wid it, en sweat over it, but twan’t 
no use. Dey couldn’t broke it. Brer Fox, he make 
like he ain’t watchin’, but he keep on holler’n : 

“ ‘ Hurry up dar, Rabs ! I’m a waitin’ on you.’ 

“ En de little Rabbits, dey hustle ’roun’ en rastle 
wid it, but dey couldn’t broke it. Bimeby dey hear 
little bird singin’ on top er de house, en de song w’at 
de little bird sing wuz dish yer : 






A STORY ABOUT THE LITTLE RABBITS. 1Q9 


“ ‘ Take yo’' toofies en gnyaw it, 

Take yo’ toofies en saw it, 

Saw it en yoke it, 

En den you kin broke it.’ 

* Den de little Rabbits, dey git mighty glad, en 
dey gnyawed de cane mos’ ’fo’ ole Brer Fox could git 
his legs oncrosst, en w’en dey kyard ’im de cane, Brer 
Fox, he sot dar en study how he gwineter make some 
mo’ skuse fer nabbin’ un um, en bimeby he git up en 
git down de sifter w’at wuz hangin’ on de wall, en 
holler out: 

“ 4 Come yer, Rabs ! Take dish yer sifter, en run 
down’t de spring en fetch me some fresh water.’ 

“ De little Rabbits, dey run down’t de spring, en 
try ter dip up de water wid (Je sifter, but co’se hit all 
run out, en hit keep on runnin’ out, twell bimeby de 
little Rabbits sot down en ’gun ter cry. Den de little 
bird settin’ up in de tree he begin fer ter sing, en dish 
yer’s de song w’at he sing : 

« ‘ Sifter hole water same ez a tray, 

Ef you fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay ; 

De Fox git madder de longer you stay— 

Fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay.’ 

“ Up dey jump, de little Rabbits did, en dey fix de 
sifter so ’twon’t leak, en den dey kyar de water ter ole 
Brer Fox. Den Brer Fox he git mighty mad, en 
p’int out a great big stick er wood, en tell de little 
Rabbits fer ter put dat on de tier. De little chaps dey 
got ’roun’ de wood, dey did, en dey lif’ at it so hard 


110 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

twel dey could see der own sins, 



“ ‘ Spit in yo’ han’s en tug it en toll it, 

En git behine it, en push it, en pole it; 
Spit in yo’ han’s en r’ar back en roll it.’ 


“ En des ’bout de time dey got de wood on de tier, 
der daddy, he come skippin’ in, en de little bird, he 
flew’d away. Brer Fox, he seed his game wuz up, en 
’twan’t long ’fo’ he make his skuse en start fer ter go. 

a ‘ 1 ou better stay en take a snack wid me, Brer 
Fox,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee. ‘ Sence Brer Wolf done 
quit cornin’ en settin’ up wid me, I gittin’ so I feels 
right lonesome dese long nights,’ sezee. 

“But Brer Fox, he button up his coat-collar tight 
en des put out fer home. En dat w’at you better do, 
honey, kaze I see Miss Sally’s shadder sailin’ backerds 
en for’ds ’fo’ de winder, en de fus’ news you know 
she’ll be spectin’ un you.” 





MR. RABBIT AND MR. BEAR. 


Ill 


XXIII. 

MR. RABBIT AND MR. BEAR. 

“ Dae wuz one season,” said Uncle Kemns, pulling 
thoughtfully at his whiskers, “w’en Brer Fox say to 
hisse’f dat he speck he better whirl in en plant a 
goober-patch, en in dem days, mon, hit wuz tech en 
go. De wud wern’t mo’n out’n his mouf ’fo’ de 
groun’ ’uz brok’d up en de goobers ’uz planted. Ole 
Brer Babbit, he sot off en watch de motions, he did, 
en he sorter shet one eye en sing to his chilluns : 

“ ‘ Ti-yi! Tungalee 1 

I eat urn pea, I pick um pea. 

Hit grow in de groun’, hit grow so free; 

Ti-yi! dem goober pea.’ 

“ Sho’ ’nuff w’en de goobers ’gun. ter ripen up, 
eve’y time Brer Fox go down ter his patch, he fine 
whar somebody bin grabblin’ ’mongst de vines, en he 
git mighty mad. He sorter speck who de somebody 
is, but ole Brer Babbit he cover his tracks so cute dat 
Brer Fox dunner how ter ketch ’im. Bimeby, one 
day Brer Fox take a walk all roun’ de groun’-pea 
patch, en ’twan’t long ’fo’ he fine a crack in de fence 
whar de rail done bin rub right smoove, en right dar 
he sot ’im a trap. He tuck’n ben’ down a hick’ry 
saplin’, growin’ in de fence-cornder, en tie one een’ un 



112 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


a plow-line on de top, en in de udder een’ he fix a 
loop-knot, en dat he fasten wid a trigger right in de 
crack. Hex’ mawnin’ w’en ole Brer Rabbit come slip- 
en crope thoo de crack, de loop- 
’im behime de fo’ legs, en de sap- 
up, en dar he wuz ’twix’ de heavens 
Dar he swung, en he fear’d he 
gwineter fall, en he fear’d 
he wer’n’t gwineter fall. 


pin’ ’long 
knot kotch 
lin’ flew’d 
en de yeth. 



W’ile he wuz a fixin’ up a 
tale fer Brer Fox, he hear a 
lumberin’ down de road, en 
present’y yer cum ole Brer B’ar 
amblin’ ’long fum whar he bin takin’ a bee-tree. Brer 
Rabbit, he hail ’im : 

“ ‘ Howdy, Brer B’ar ! ’ 

“ Brer B’ar, he look ’roun en bimeby he see Brer 
Rabbit swingin’ fum de saplin’, en he holler out: 










1 



r 

° Hit *im in de mouf, Brer Fox ! ” 




MR. RABBIT AND MR. BEAR. 


113 


u i Heyo, Brer Babbit! How you come on dis 
mawnin’ \’ 

“ ‘ Much oblije, I’m middlin’, Brer B’ar,’ sez Brer 
Rabbit, sezee. 

“ Den Brer B’ar, be ax Brer Babbit w’at be doin’ 
up dar in de elements, en Brer Babbit, be up’n say he 
makin’ dollar minnit. Brer B’ar, be say bow. Brer 
Babbit say he keepin’ crows out’n Brer Fox’s groun’- 
pea patch, en den be ax Brer B’ar ef be don’t wanter 
make dollar minnit, kaze be got big fambly er chilluns 
fer ter take keer un, en den be make secb nice skeer- 
crow. Brer B’ar ’low dat he take de job, en den Brer 
Babbit show ’im bow ter ben’ down de saplin’, en 
’twan’t long ’fo’ Brer B’ar wuz swingin’ up dar in 
Brer Rabbit place. Den Brer Babbit, he put out fer 
Brer Fox bouse, en w’en he got dar he sing out: 

“ ‘ Brer Fox ! Oh, Brer Fox ! Come out yer, 
Brer Fox, en I’ll show you de man w’at bin stealin’ yo’ 
goobers.’ 

“ Brer Fox, be grab up bis walkin’-stick, en bofe 
un um went rannin’ back down ter der goober-patch, 
en w’en dey got dar, sbo ’nuff, dar wuz ole Brer 
B’ar. 

“ ‘ Oh, yes! youer kotcb, is you ? ’ sez Brer Fox, 
en ’fo’ Brer B’ar could ’splain, Brer Babbit he jump 
up en down, en boiler out: 

“ 6 Hit ’im in de motif, Brer Fox ; hit ’im in de 
mouf’; en Brer Fox, be draw back wid de walkin’- 


114 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


cane, en blip he tuck ’im, en eve’y time Brer B’ar’d try 
ter ’splain, Brer Fox’d shower down on him. 

“ W’iles all dis ’uz gwine on, Brer Rabbit, he slip 
off en git in a mud-hole en des lef’ his eyes stickin’ 
out, kaze he know’d dat Brer B’ar’d be a cornin’ atter 



im. Sho ’nuff, bimeby here come Brer B’ar down de 
road, en w’en he git ter de mud-hole, he say : 

Howdy, Brer Frog; is you seed Brer Rabbit £0 
by yer ?’ 

“ ‘ He des gone by,’ sez Brer Rabbit, en ole man 








MR. BEAR CATCHES OLD MR. BULL-FROG. H5 

B’ar tuck off down de.road like a skeer’d mule, en 
Brer Rabbit, he come out en dry hisse’f in de sun, en 
go home ter his fambly same ez enny udder man.” 

“ The Bear didn’t catch the Rabbit, then ? ” in¬ 
quired the little boy, sleepily. 

“ Jump up fum dar, honey! ” exclaimed Uncle 
Remus, by way of reply. “ I ain’t got no time fer ter 
be settin’ yer proppin’ yo’ eyeleds open.” 


XXIV. 

MR. BEAR CATCHES OLD MR. BULL-FROG. 

“Well, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, count¬ 
ing to see if he hadn’t lost a marble somewhere, “ the 
Bear didn’t catch the Rabbit after all, did he ? ” 

“ Now you talkin’, honey,” replied the old man, 
his earnest face breaking up into little eddies of smiles 
— u now you talkin’ sho. ’Tain’t bin proned inter no 
Brer B’ar fer ter kotch Brer Rabbit. Hit sorter like 
settin’ a mule fer ter trap a hummin’-bird. But Brer 
B’ar, he tuck’n got hisse’f inter some mo’ trubble, 
w’ich it look like it mighty easy. Ef folks could make 
der livin’ longer gittin’ inter trubble,” continued the 
old man, looking curiously at the little boy, “ ole Miss 
Favers wouldn’t be bodder’n yo’ ma fer ter borry a 
cup full er sugar eve’y now en den ; en it look like ter 
me dat I knows a nigger dat wouldn’t be squattin’ 
’roun’ yer makin’ dese yer fish-baskits.” 


116 


LEGENDS OP THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ How did the Bear get into more trouble, Uncle 
Remus ? ” asked the little boy. 

“ Hatchul, honey. Brer B’ar, he tuck a notion dat 
ole Brer Bull-frog wuz de man wa’t fool ’im, en he 
say dat he’d come up wid ’im ef ’twuz a year atter- 
wuds. But ’twan’t no year, an ’twan’t no mont’, en 
mo’n dat, hit wan’t skasely a week, w’en 
bimeby one day Brer B’ar wuz gwine home .Jj^ 
fum de takin’ un a bee-tree, en lo en ^ 


beholes, who should 
he see but ole Brer 



Bull-frog settin’ out 
on de aidge er 
de mud - puddle 
fas’ ’sleep! Brer 
B’ar drap his 
axe, he did, en 
crope up, en 
retch out wid his 
paw, en scoop ole 
Brer Bull - frog in 
des dis away.” Here 
the old man used his 
hand ladle-fashion, by 

way of illustration. “ He scoop ’im in, en dar he 
wuz. W’en Brer B’ar got his clampers on ’im good, 
he sot down en talk at ’im. 

“ ‘ Howdy, Brer Bull-frog, howdy I En how yo’ 






MR. BEAR CATCHES OLD MR. BULL-FROG. H7 

fambly ? I hope deyer well, Brer Bull-frog, kaze dis 
day yon got some bizness wid me w’at’ll las’ you a 
mighty long time.’ 

“ Brer Bull-frog, he dunner w’at ter say. He 
dunner wat’s up, en he don’t say nuthin’. Ole Brer 
B’ar he keep runnin’ on : 

“ ‘ Youer de man w’at tuck en fool me ’bout Brer 
Rabbit t’er day. You had yo’ fun, Brer Bull-frog, en 
now I’ll gil mine.’ 

“ Den Brer Bull-frog, he gin ter git skeerd, he did, 
en he up’n say : 

“ i W’at I bin doin’, Brer B’ar ? How I bin foolin’ 
you ? ’ 

“ Den Brer B’ar laff, en make like he dunno, but 
he keep on talkin’. 

“ 4 Oh, no, Brer Bull-frog ! You ain’t de man w’at 
stick yo’ head up out’n de water en tell me Brer Rab¬ 
bit done gone on by. Oh, no ! you ain’t de man. I 
boun’ you ain’t. ’Bout dat time, you wuz at home 
with yo’ fambly, whar you allers is. I dunner whar 
you wuz, but I knows whar you is, Brer Bull-frog, en 
hit’s you en me fer it. Atter de sun goes down dis 
day you don’t fool no mo’ folks gwine ’long dis road.’ 

“ Co’se, Brer Bull-frog dunner w’at Brer B’ar 
drivin’ at, but he know sump’n hatter be done, en dat 
mighty soon, kaze Brer B’ar ’gun to snap his jaws ter- 
gedder en foam at de mouf, en Brer Bull-frog holler 
out: 


118 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

“ 4 Oh, pray, Brer B’ar ! Lemme off dis time ; en I 
won’t never do so no mo’. Oh, pray, Brer B’ar! do 
lemme off dis time, en I’ll show you de fattes’ bee- 
tree in de woods.’ 

u Ole Brer B’ar, he chomp his toofi.es en foam at 
de mouf. Brer Bull-frog he des up’n squall: 

“ 4 Oh, pray, Brer B’ar J I won’t never do so no 
mo’! Oh, pray, Brer B’ar ! Lemme off dis time! ’ 

“ But ole Brer B’ar say he gwineter make way wid 
im, en den he sot en study, ole Brer B’ar did, how he 
gwineter squench Brer Bull-frog. He know he can’t 
drown ’im, en lie ain’t got no fier fer ter bu’n ’im, en 
he git mighty pestered. Bimeby ole Brer Bull-frog, 
he sorter stop his cryin’ en his boo-hooin’, en he up’n 
say: 

“ 4 Ef you gwineter kill me, Brer B’ar, kyar me ter 
dat big flat rock out dar on de aidge er de mill-pon’, 
whar I kin see my fambly, en atter I see um, den you 
kin take you axe en sqush me.’ 

44 Dis look so fa’r and squar’ dat Brer B’ar he ’gree, 
en he take ole Brer Bull-frog by wunner his behime 
legs, en sling his axe on his shoulder, en off he put fer 
de big flat rock. When he git dar he lay Brer Bull¬ 
frog down on de rock, en Brer Bull-frog make like he 
lookin’ ’roun’ fer his folks. Den Brer B’ar, he draw 
long breff en pick up his axe. Den he spit in his 

han’s en draw back en come down on de rock_ 

pow! ” 


MR. BEAR CATCHES OLD MR. BULL-PROG. 119 

“ Did he kill the Frog, Uncle Remus ?” asked the 
little boy, as the old man paused to scoop up a thimble¬ 
ful of glowing embers in his pipe. 

“ ’Deed, en dat he didn’t, honey. ’Twix’ de time 
w’en Brer B’ar raise up wid his axe en w’en he come 



down wid it, ole Brer Bull-frog he lipt up en dove 
down in de mill-pon’, kerblink-kerblunk ! En w’en he 
riz way out in de pon’ he riz a singin’, en dish yer’s de 
song w’at he sing : 

“ ‘ Ingle-go-jang, my joy, my joy— 

Ingle-go-jang, my joy! 

I’m right at home, my joy, my joy— 

Ingle-go-jang, my joy ! ’ ” 

u That’s a mighty funny song,” said the little boy. 

“Funny now, I speck,” said the old man, “but 
’twern’t funny in dem days, en ’twouldn’t be funny 
now ef folks know’d much ’bout de Bull-frog lang- 
widge ez dey useter. Dat’s w’at.” 





120 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


xxv. 

ROW ME. RABBIT LOST HIS FINE BUSHY TAIL. 

“ One time,” said Uncle Remus, sighing heavily 
and settling himself back in his seat with an air of 
melancholy resignation—“ one time Brer Rabbit wuz 
gwine ’long down de road shakin’ his big bushy tail, 
en feelin’ des ez scrumpshus ez a bee-martin wia a 
fresh bug.” Here the old man paused and glanced at 
the little boy, but it was evident that the youngster 
had become so accustomed to the marvelous develop¬ 
ments of Uncle Remus’s stories, that the extraordinary 
statement made no unusual impression upon him. 
Therefore the old man began again, and this time in a 
louder and more insinuating tone : 

One time ole man Rabbit, he wuz gwine ’long 
down de road shakin’ his long, bushy tail, en feelin’ 
mighty biggity.” 

This was effective. 

“ Great goodness, Uncle Remus ! ” exclaimed the 
little boy in open-eyed wonder, “everybody knows 
that rabbits haven’t got long, bushy tails.” 

The old man shifted his position in his chair and 
allowed his venerable head to drop forward until his 
whole appearance was suggestive of the deepest de¬ 
jection ; and this was intensified by a groan that 
seemed to be the result of great mental agony. Final- 


HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS FINE BUSHY TAIL. 121 

ly he spoke, but not as addressing himself to the little 
boy. 

“ I notices dat dem fokes w’at makes a great ’mira¬ 
tion ’bout w’at dey knows is des de fokes w’ich you 
can’t put no ’pennunce in w’en de 
’cashun come up. Yer one un urn 
now, en he done come en excuse me 
er ’lowin’ dat rabbits is 
got long, bushy tails, 
w’ich goodness knows 
ef I’d a dremp’ it, I’d 
a whirl in en on dremp 
it.” 

“Well, but Uncle Re¬ 
mus, you said rabbits had 
long, bushy tails,” replied the 
little boy. “ Now you know 
you did.” 

“ Ef I ain’t fergit it off’n 
my mine, I say dat ole Brer 
Babbit wuz gwine down de big road shakin’ his long, 
bushy tail. Dat w’at I say, en dat I stan’s by.” 

The little boy looked puzzled, but he didn’t say 
anything. After a while the old man continued : 

“ Now > den > ef dat’s ’greed ter, I’m gwine on, en 
ef tain’t ’greed ter, den I’m gwineter pick up my cane 
en look atter my own intrust. I got wuk lyin’ roun’ 

yer dat’s des natally gittin’ moldy ” 

10 




122 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


The little boy still remained quiet, and Uncle Re¬ 
mus proceeded : 

“ One day Brer Rabbit wuz gwine down de road 
shakin’ his long, bushy tail, 
j[ w’en who should he strike up 
wid but ole Brer Fox gwine 
amblin’ long wid a big string 
er fish! W’en dey pass de 
time er day wid 
wunner nudder, 
Brer Rabbit, he 
open up de con¬ 
fab, he did, 
en he ax 
Brer Fox 
whar he 
git dat 



nice string er fish, en 
Brer Fox, he up’n ’spon’ 
dat he kotch um, en Brer Rabbit, he say whar’bouts, 




















HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS FINE BUSHY TAIL. 123 

en Brer Fox, lie say down at de babtizin’ creek, en 
Brer Rabbit he ax how, kaze in dem days dey wuz 
monstus fon’ er minners, en Brer Fox, he sot down 
on a log, he did, en he up’n tell Brer Rabbit dat all 
he gotter do fer ter git er big mess er minners is 
ter go ter de creek atter sun down, en drap his tail 
in de water en set dar twel day-light, en den draw up 
a whole armful er fishes, en dem w’at he don’t want, 
he kin fling back. Right dar’s whar Brer Rabbit 
drap his watermillion, kaze he tuck’n sat out dat 
night en went a fishin’. De wedder wuz sorter cole, 
en Brer Rabbit, he got ’im a bottle er dram en put 
out fer de creek, en w’en he git dar he pick out a 
good place, en he sorter squot down, he did, en let 
his tail hang in de water. He sot dar, en he sot dar, 
en he drunk his dram, en he think he gwineter freeze, 
but bimeby day come, en dar he wuz. He make a 
pull, en he feel like he cornin’ in two, en he fetch 
nudder jerk, en lo en beholes, whar wuz his tail ? ” 

There was a long pause. 

“ Did it come off, Uncle Remus ? ” asked the little 
boy, presently. 

“ She did dat! ” replied the old man with unction. 
u She did dat, and dat w’at make all deze yer bob-tail 
rabbits w’at you see hoppin’ en skaddlin’ thoo de 
woods.” 

“ Are they all that way just because the old Rabbit 
lost his tail in the creek ? ” asked the little boy. 


124 


LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ Dat’s it, honey,” replied the old man. “ Dat’s 
w’at dey tells me. Look like dey er bleedzd ter take 
atter der pa.” 


XXVI. 

MR. TERRAPIN SHOWS HIS STRENGTH. 

“ Brer Tarrypin wuz de out’nes’ man,” said Uncle 
Remus, rubbing his hands together contemplatively, 
and chuckling to himself in a very significant man¬ 
ner ; “ he wuz de out’nes’ man er de whole gang. He 
wuz dat.” 

The little boy sat perfectly quiet, betraying no im¬ 
patience when Uncle Remus paused to hunt, first in 
one pocket and then in another, for enough crumbs of 
tobacco to replenish his pipe. Presently the old man 
proceeded: 

“ One night Miss .Meadows en de gals dey gun a 
candy-pullin’, en so many er de nabers come in ’sponse 
ter de invite dat dey hatter put de ’lasses in de wash 
pot en b’il’ de fier in de yard. Brer B’ar, he hope * 
Miss Meadows bring de wood, Brer Fox, he men’ de 
fier, Brer Wolf, he kep’ de dogs off, Brer Rabbit, he 
grease de bottom er de plates fer ter keep de candy 
fum stickin’, en Brer Tarrypin, he klum up in a cheer, 


Holp; helped. 





MR. TERRAPIN SHOWS HIS STRENGTH. 125 

en say he’d watch en see dat de ’lasses didn’t bile 
over. Dey wuz all dere, en dey w r ern’t cuttin’ up no 
didos, nudder, kaze Miss Meadows, she done put her 
foot down, she did, en say dat w’en dey come ter her 
place dey hatter hang up a flag er truce at de front 
gate en ’bide by it. 

“ Well, den, w’iles dey wuz all a settin’ dar en de 
’lasses wuz a bilin’ en a blubberin’, dey got ter runnin’ 
on talkin’ mighty biggity. Brer Babbit, he say he de 
swiffes’; but Brer Tarrypin, he 



de sharpes’, but Brer Tarrypin he rock ’long. Brer 
Wolf, de say he de mos’ suvvigus, but Brer Tarrypin, 






126 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

lie rock en he rock ’long. Brer B’ar, he sav he de 
mos’ stronges’, but Brer Tarrypin he rock, en he keep 
on rockin’. Bimeby he sorter shet one eye, en say, 
sezee: 

u c Hit look like ’periently dat de ole hardshell ain’t 
nowhars ’longside er dis crowd, yit yer I is, en I’m de 
same man w’at show Brer Rabbit dat he ain’t de 
swiffes’; en I’m de same man w’at kin show Brer B’ar 
dat he ain’t de stronges’,’ sezee. 

“ Den dey all laff en holler, kaze it look like Brer 
B’ar mo’ stronger dan a steer. Bimeby, Miss Mead¬ 
ows, she up’n ax, she did, how he gwine do it. 

Gimme a good strong rope,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, 
sezee, ‘ en lemme git in er puddle er water, en den let 
Brer B’ar see ef he kin pull me out,’ sezee. 

“ Den dey all laff g’in, en Brer B’ar, he ups en sez, 
sezee : ‘fe ain’t got no rope,’ sezee. 

Ho,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, ‘ en needer is you 
got de strenk,’ sezee, en den Brer Tarrypin, he rock en 
rock ’long, en watch de ’lasses a bilin’ en a blubberin’. 

“ Atter w ’ ile Miss Meadows, she up en say, she did, 
dat she’d take’n loan de young men her bed-cord, en 
w’iles de candy wuz a coolin’ in de plates, dey could all 
go ter de branch en see Brer Tarrypin kyar out his 
projick. Brer Tarrypin,” continued Uncle Remus, in 
a tone at once confidential and argumentative, “ wern’t 
much bigger’n de pa’m er my lian’, en it look mighty 
funny fer ter year ’im braggin’ ’bout how he kin out- 


MR. TERRAPIN SHOWS HIS STRENGTH. 127 

pull Brer B’ar. But dey got de bed-cord atter w’ile, 
en den dey all put out ter de branch. W’en Brer 
Tarrypin fine de place he wanter, he tuck one een’ er 
de bed-cord, en gun de yuther een’ to Brer B’ar. 

u 4 Now den, ladies en gents,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, 
sezee, 6 you all go wid Brer B’ar up dar in de woods 
en I’ll stay yer, en w’en you year me holler, den’s de 
time fer Brer B’ar fer ter see ef he kin haul in de 
slack er de rope. You all take keer er dat ar een’,’ 
sezee, ‘ en I’ll take keer er dish yer een’,’ sezee. 



“ Den dey all put out en lef’ Brer Tarrypin at de 
branch, en w’en dey got good en gone, he dove down 



























































128 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

inter de water, he did, en tie de bedcord hard en fas’ 
ter wunner deze yer big clay-roots, en den he riz up en 
gin a whoop. 

“ Brer B’ar he wrop de bed-cord roun’ his han’, en 
wink at de gals, en wid dat he gin a big juk, but Brer 
Tarrypin ain’t budge. Den he take bofe ban’s en gin 
a big pull, but, all de same, Brer Tarrypin ain’t budge. 
Den he tu’n ’roun’, he did, en put de rope cross his 
shoulders en try ter walk off wid Brer Tarrypin, but 
Brer Tarrypin look like he don’t feel like walkin’. 
Den Brer Wolf he put in en hope Brer B’ar pull, but 
des like he didn’t, en den dey all hope ’im, en, bless 
grashus! w’iles dey wuz all a pullin’, Brer Tarrypin, 
he holler, en ax um w’y dey don’t take up de slack. 
Den w’en Brer Tarrypin feel um quit pullin’, he dove 
down, he did, en ontie de rope, en by de time dey got 
ter de branch, Brer Tarrypin, he wuz settin’ in de 
aidge er de water des ez natchul ez de nex’ un, en he 
up’n say, sezee : 

Dat las’ pull er yone wuz a mighty stiff un, en a 
leetle mo’n you’d er had me,’ sezee. ‘ Youer monstus 
stout, Brer B’ar,’ sezee, ‘ en you pulls like a yoke er 
steers, but I sorter had de purchis on you,’ sezee. ‘ 

Den Brer B ar, bein’s his mouf ’gun ter water 
atter de sweetnin’, he up’n say he speck de candy’s 
ripe, en off dey put atter it! ” 

It s a wonder,” said the little boy, after a while, 

“ that the rope didn’t break.” 


WHY MR. POSSUM HAS NO HAIR ON HIS TAIL. 129 


“ Break who ? ” exclaimed Uncle Bemus, with a 
touch of indignation in his tone— u break who ? In 
dem days, Miss Meadows’s bed-cord would a hilt a 
mule.” 

This put an end to whatever doubts the child might 
have entertained. 


XXVII. 

WHY MR. POSSUM HAS NO HAIR ON HIS TAIL. 

“ Hit look like ter me,” said Uncle Bemus, frown¬ 
ing, as the little boy came hopping and skipping into 
the old man’s cabin, “ dat I see a young un ’bout yo’ 
size playin’ en makin’ free wid dem ar chilluns er ole 
Miss Favers’s yistiddy, en w’en I seed dat, I drap my 
axe, en I come in yer en sot flat down right whar 
youer settin’ now, en I say ter myse’f dat it’s ’bout 
time fer ole Bemus fer ter hang up en quit. Dat’s 
des zackly w’at I say.” 

“ Well, Uncle Bemus, they called me,” said the lit¬ 
tle boy, in a penitent tone. “ They come and called 
me, and said* they had a pistol and some powder over 
there.” 

“ Dar now ! ” exclaimed the old man, indignantly. 
“ Dar now ! w’at I bin sayin’ ? Hit’s des a born bless- 
in’ dat you wa’n’t brung home on a litter wid bofe 
eyeballs bangin’ out en one year clean gone ; dat’s w’at 


130 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

’tis! Hit’s des a born blessin’. Hit hope me up 
might’iy de udder day w’en I hear Miss Sally layin’ 
down de law ’bout you en dem Favers chillun, yit, lo 
en beholes, de fus news I knows yer you is han’-in- 
glove wid um. Hit’s miff fer ter fetch ole Miss right 
up out’n dat berryin’-groun’ fum down dar in Putmon 
County, en w’at yo’ gram’ma wouldn’t er stood me en 
yo’ ma ain’t gwineter stan’ nudder, en de nex’ time I 
hear ’bout sech a come off ez dis, right den en dar 
I’m boun’ ter lay de case ’fo’ Miss Sally. Dem Fa- 
vers’s wa’n’t no ’count ’fo’ de war, en dey wa’n’t 
no ’count endurin’ er de war, en dey ain’t no ’count 
atterwards, en w’iles my head’s hot you ain’t gwin¬ 
eter go mixin’ up yo’se’f wid de riff-raff er crea- 
shun.” 

The little boy made no further attempt to justify 
his conduct. He was a very wise little boy, and he 
knew that, in Uncle Remus’s eyes, he had been guilty 
of a flagrant violation of the family code. Therefore, 
instead of attempting to justify himself, he pleaded 
guilty, and promised that he would never do so any 
more. After this there was a long period of silence, 
broken only by the vigorous style in which Uncle Re¬ 
mus puffed away at his pipe. This was the invariable 
result. Whenever the old man had occasion to repri¬ 
mand the little boy—and the occasions were frequent 
—he would relapse into a dignified but stubborn si¬ 
lence. Presently the youngster drew forth from his 


131 


WHY MR. POSSUM HAS NO HAIR ON HIS TAIL. 

pocket a long piece of candle. Tlie sharp eyes of the 
old man saw it at once. 

“ Don’t you come a tellin’ me dat Miss Sally gun 
you dat,” he exclaimed, “ kaze she didn’t. En I lay 
you hatter be monstus sly ’fo’ you gotter chance fer ter 
snatch up dat piece er cannle.” 

“ Well, Uncle Remus,” the little boy explained, “ it 
was lying there all by itself, and I just thought I’d 
fetch it out to you.” 

u Dat’s so, honey,” said Uncle Remus, greatly 
mollified ; “ dat’s so, kaze by now some er dem yuther 
niggers ’ud er done had her lit up. Dey er mighty 
taggityj dem house niggers is, but I notices dat dey 
don’t let nuthin’ pass. Dey goes ’long wid der han’s 
en der mouf open, en w’at one don’t ketch de tother 
one do.” 

There was another pause, and finally the little boy 
said : 

“ Uncle Remus, you know you promised to-day to 
tell me why the ’Possum has no hair on his tail.” 

“ Law, honey ! ain’t you done gone en fergot dat 
off’n yo’ mine yit ? Hit look like ter me,” continued 
the old man, leisurely refilling his pipe, “ dat she sorter 
run like dis : One time ole Brpr Possum, he git so 
hungry, he did, dat he bleedzd fer ter have a mess er 
’simmons. He monstus lazy man, old Brer Possum 
wuz, but bimeby his stummuck ’gun ter growl en 
holler at ’im so dat he des hatter rack ’roun’ en hunt 


132 legends of the old plantation. 


up sump’n; en w’iles he wuz rackin’ ’roun’, who sh’d 
he run up wid but Brer Rabbit, en dey wuz hail- 
fellers, kaze Brer Possum, he ain’t bin bodder’n Brer 
Rabbit like dem yuther creeturs. Dey sot down by de 
side er de big road, en dar dey 
jabber en confab ’mong wunner 
nudder, twel bimeby old Brer 
Possum, he take ’n tell 
Brer Rabbit dat he mos’ 



___ 

J ^ pe’sh out, en Brer 

Rabbit, he lip up 
in de a’r, he did, en 
smack his han’s tergedder, en say dat he know right 
whar Brer Possum kin git a bait er ’simmons. Den 
Brer Possum, he say whar, en Brer Babbit, he say 
w’ich ’twnz over at Brer B’ar’s ’simmon orchard.” 

' tke ® ear have a ’simmon orchard, Uncle Be- 
mus ? ” the little boy asked. 

“ Co ’ se ’ hone D kaze « dem days Brer B’ar wuz a 


WHY MR. POSSUM HAS NO HAIR ON HIS TAIL. 133 

bee-hunter. He make his livin’ findin’ bee trees, en de 
way he fine utn he plant ’im some ’simmon-trees, w’ich 
de bees dey’d come ter suck de ’simmons en den ole 
Brer B’ar he’d watch um whar dey’d go, en den he’d 
be mighty ap’ fer ter come up wid um. JSTo matter 
’bout dat, de ’simmon patch ’uz dar des like I tell you, 
en ole Brer Possum mouf ’gun ter water soon’s he 
year talk un um, en mos’ ’fo’ Brer Rabbit done tellin’ 
’im de news, Brer Possum, he put out, he did, en 
’twa’n’t long ’fo’ he wuz perch up in de highes’ tree 
in Brer B’ar ’simmon patch. But Brer Rabbit, he 
done ’termin’ fer ter see some fun, en w’iles all dis ’uz 
gwine on, he run ’roun’ ter Brer B’ar house, en holler 
en tell ’im w’ich dey wuz somebody ’stroyin’ un 
his ’simmons, en Brer B’ar, he hustle off fer ter 
ketch ’im. 

“ Eve’y now en den Brer Possum think he year 
Brer B’ar cornin’, but he keep on sayin’, sezee : 

“ ‘ I’ll des git one ’simmon mo’ en den I’ll go ; one 
’simmon mo’ en den I’ll go.’ 

“ Las’ he year Brer B’ar cornin’ sho nuff, but ’twuz 
de same ole chune—‘ One ’simmon mo’ en den I’ll go ’ 
—en des ’bout dat time Brer B’ar busted inter de patch, 
en gin de tree a shake, en Brer Possum, he drapt out 
longer de yuther ripe ’simmons, but time he totch de 
groun’ he got his foots tergedder, en he lit out fer de 
fence same ez a race-hoss, en ’cross dat patch him en 
Brer B’ar had it, en Brer B’ar gain’ eve’y jump, twel 


134 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

time Brer Possum make de fence Brer B’ar grab ’im 
by de tail, en Brer Possum, lie went out ’tween de rails 
en gin a powerful juk en pull his tail out ’twix Brer 
B’ar tushes; en, lo en beholes, 

Brer B’ar hole so tight en < j 

Brer Possum pull so hard 
dat all de ha’r come 



off in Brer 
B’ar’s mouf, 
w’ich, ef Brer 
Babbit hadnt’ 
er happen up 

Wid a go’d er water, Brer B’ar ’der got strankle. 

“Fum dat day ter dis,” said Uncle Remus, 





THE END OF MR. BEAR. 135 

knocking the ashes carefully out of his pipe, “Brer 
Possum ain’t had no ha’r on his tail, en needer do 
his chilluns.” 


XXVIII. 

THE END OF MR. BEAR. 

The next time the little boy sought Uncle Remus 
out, he found the old man unusually cheerful and good- 
humoured. His rheumatism had ceased to trouble him, 
and he was even disposed to be boisterous. He was 
singing when the little boy got near the cabin, and the 
child paused on the outside to listen to the vigorous but 
mellow voice of the old man, as it rose and fell with 
the burden of the curiously plaintive song—a senseless 
affair so far as the words were concerned, but sung to a 
melody almost thrilling in its sweetness : 

“ Han’ me down my walkin’-cane 
(Hey my Lily ! go down de road !), 

Yo’ true lover gone down de lane 
(Hey my Lily ! go down de road !).” 

The quick ear of Uncle Remus, however, had de¬ 
tected the presence of the little boy, and he allowed 
his song to run into a recitation of nonsense, of which 
the following, if it be rapidly spoken, will give a faint 
idea: 

“ Ole M’er Jackson, fines’ confraction, fell down 


136 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

sta’rs fer to git satisfaction ; big Bill Fray, be rule 
de day, eve’ything he call fer come one, two by three. 
Gwine ’long one day, met Johnny Huby, ax him grine 
nine yards er steel fer me, tole me w’ich he couldn’t; 
den I hist ’im over Hickerson Dickerson’s barn-doors; 
knock ’im ninety-nine miles under water, w’en he rise, 
he rise in Pike straddle un a hanspike, en I lef’ ’im dar 
smokin’ er de hornpipe, Juba reda seda breda. Aunt 
Kate at de gate; I want to eat, she fry de meat en 
gimme skin, w’ich I fling it back agin. Juba ! ” 

All this, rattled off at a rapid rate and with apparent 
seriousness, was calculated to puzzle the little boy, and 
he slipped into his accustomed seat with an expression 
of awed bewilderment upon his face. 

u Hit’s all des dat away, honey,” continued the old 
man, with the air of one who had just given an im¬ 
portant piece of information. “ En w’en you bin cas’n 
shadders long ez de ole nigger, den you’ll fine out who’s 
w’ich, en w’ich’s who.” 

The little boy made no response. He was in thor¬ 
ough sympathy with all the whims and humors of the 
old man, and his capacity for enjoying them was large 
enough to include even those he could not understand. 
Uncle Remus was finishing an axe-handle, and upon 
these occasions it was his custom to allow the child to 
hold one end while he applied sand-paper to the other. 
These relations were pretty soon established, to the mu¬ 
tual satisfaction of the parties most interested, and the 


THE END OF MR. BEAR. 


137 


old man continued his remarks, but this time not at 
random : 

“ W ’ en I see deze yer swell-head folks like dat ’oman 
w’at come en tell yo’ ma ’bout you chunkin’ at her chil- 
luns, w’ich yo’ ma make Mars John strop you, hit make 
my mine run back to ole Brer B’ar. Ole Brer B’ar, he 
got de swell-headedness hisse’f, en ef der wuz enny 
swinkin’, hit swunk too late fer ter he’p ole Brer B’ar. 
Leas ways dat’s w’at dey tells me, en I ain’t never yearn 
it ’sputed.” 

“ Was the Bear’s head sure enough swelled, Uncle 
Remus ? ” 

66 Now you talkin’, honey! ” exclaimed the old man. 

“ Goodness ! what made it swell ? ” 

This was Uncle Remus’s cue. Applying the sand¬ 
paper to the axe-helve with gentle vigor, he began : 

u One time when Brer Rabbit wuz gwine lopin’ 
home fum a frolic w’at dey bin havin’ up at Miss 
Meadows’s, who should he happin up wid but ole Brer 
B’ar. Co’se, atter w’at done pass ’twix um dey wa’n’t 
no good feelin’s ’tween Brer Rabbit en ole Brer B’ar, 
but Brer Rabbit, he wanter save his manners, en so he 
holler out: 

“ Heyo, Brer B’ar ! how you come on ? I ain’t seed 
you in a coon’s age. How all down at yo’ house ? How 
Miss Brune en Miss Brindle ? ” 

“ Who was that, Uncle Remus ? ” the little boy in¬ 
terrupted. ^ 


138 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


44 Miss Brune en Miss Brindle ? Miss Brune wuz 
Brer B’ar’s ole ’oman, en Miss Brindle wuz liis gal. 
Dat w’at dey call um 
in dem days. So 
Brer Babbit, he 
him howdy, he 
en Brer B’ar, he ’ 


/ 

u 

/ 


dat he wuz mighty po’ly, en dey amble ’long, dey did, 
sorter familious like, but Brer Babbit, he keep one eye 
on Brer B’ar, en Brer B’ar, he study how he gwine nab 
Brer Babbit. Las’ Brer Babbit, he up’n say, sezee : 

“ 4 Brer B’ar, I speck I got some bizness cut out fer 
you,’ sezee. 

“ 4 What dat, Brer Babbit ? ’ sez Brer B’ar, sezee. 

W’iles I wuz cleanin’ up my new-groun’ day ’fo’ 
yistiddy,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee, 4 1 come ’cross wunner 
deze yer ole time bee-trees. Hit start holler at de bot- 




THE END OF MR. BEAR. 


139 

tom, en stay holler plum der de top, en de honey’s des 
natally oozin’ out, en ef you’ll drap yo’ ’gagements en 
go ’longer me,’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee, ‘you’ll git a bait 
dat’ll las’ you en yo’ fambly twel de 
middle er nex’ mont’,’ sezee. 

u Brer B’ar say he much 
oblije en he b’leeve he’ll go 
’long, en wid dat dey put out 
fer Brer Babbit’s new-groun’, 
w’ich twa’n’t so mighty fur. 

Leas’ways, dey got dar atter 
w’ile. Ole Brer B’ar, he ’low dat 
he kin smell de honey. Brer Bab¬ 
bit, he ’low dat he kin see de hon- 
ey-koam. Brer B’ar, he low dat 
he can hear de bees a zoonin’. 

Dey stan’ ’roun’ en talk biggity, 
dey did, twel bimeby Brer Bab¬ 
bit, he up’n say, sezee : 

“ ‘ You do de clim-’in’, Brer 
B’ar, en I’ll do de rushin’ 

’roun’; you clime up ter de 
hole, en I’ll take dis yer 









140 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


pine pole en shove de honey up whar you kin git 
’er’, sezee. 

“ Ole Brer B’ar, he spit on his han’s en skint up de 
tree, en jam his head in de hole, en sho nuff, Brer Rab¬ 
bit, he grab de pine pole, en de way he stir up dem bees 
wuz sinful—dat’s w’at it wuz. Hit wuz sinful. En de 
bees dey swawm’d on Brer B’ar’s head, twel ’fo’ he could 
take it out’n de hole hit wuz done swell up bigger dan 
dat dinner-pot, - en dar he swung, en ole Brer Rabbit, 
he dance ’roun’ en sing : 

“ ‘ Tree stan’ high, but honey mighty sweet— 

Watch dem bees wid stingers on der feet.’ 

“ But dar ole Brer B’ar hung, en ef his head ain’t 
swunk, I speck he hangin’ dar yit—dat w’at I speck.” 


XXIX. 

MR. FOX GETS INTO SERIOUS BUSINESS. 

“ Hit turn out one time,” said Uncle Remus, grind¬ 
ing some crumbs of tobacco between the palms of his 
hands, preparatory to enjoying his usual smoke after 
supper—“ hit turn out one time dat Brer Rabbit make 
so free wid de man’s collard-patch dat de man he tuck’n 
sot a trap fer ole Brer Rabbit.” 

“ Which man was that, Uncle Remus ? ” asked the 
little boy. 


MR. FOX GETS INTO SERIOUS BUSINESS. 141 

“ Des a man, honey. Dat’s all. Dat’s all I knows 
—des wunner dese yer mans w’at you see trollopin 
’roun’ eve’y day. ISTobody ain’t never year w’at his 
name is, en ef dey did dey kep’ de news mighty close 
fum me. Ef dish yer man is bleedzd fer ter have a 
name, den I’m done, kaze you’ll hatter go fudder dan 
me. Ef you bleedzd ter know mo’ dan w’at I duz, 
den you’ll hatter hunt up some er deze yer niggers 
w’at’s sprung up sence I commence fer ter shed my 
ha’r.” 

“Well, I just thought, Uncle Remus,” said the little 
boy, in a tone remarkable for self-depreciation, “ that 
the man had a name.” 

“ Tooby sho,” replied the old man, with unction, 
puffing away at his pipe. “ Co’se. Dat w’at make I 
say w’at I duz. Dish yer man mout a had a name, 
en den ag’in he moutn’t. He mout er bin name Slip- 
shot Sam, en he mouter bin name ole One-eye Riley, 
w’ich ef ’twuz hit ain’t bin handed roun’ ter me. But 
dish yer man, he in de tale, en w’at we gwine do wid 
’im ? Dat’s de p’int, kase w’en I git ter huntin’ ’roun’ 
’mong my ’membunce atter dish yer Mister W’atyom 
maycollum’s name, she ain’t dar. How den, less dea 
call ’im Mr. Man en let ’im go at dat.” 

The silence of the little boy gave consent. 

“ One time,” said Uncle Remus, carefully taking up 
the thread of the story where it had been dropped, “ hit 
turn out dat Brer Rabbit bin makin’ so free wid Mr. 


142 Legends of the old plantation. 

Man’s greens en truck dat Mr. Man, lie tuck’n sot a trap 
for Brer Rabbit, en Brer Rabbit lie so greedy dat he 
tuck’n walk right spang in it, ’fo’ he know hisse’f. Well, 
’twa’n’t long ’fo’ yer come Mr. Man, broozin’ ’roun’, en 
he ain’t no sooner see ole Brer Rabbit dan he smack his 
han’s tergedder en holler out: 

“ ‘ Youer nice feller, you is ! Yer you bin gobblin’ 
up my green truck, en now you try in’ ter tote oft' my 
trap. Youer mighty nice chap—dat’s w’at you is ! But 
now dat I got you, I’ll des ’bout settle wid you fer de 
ole en de new.’ 

“ Fn wid dat, Mr. Man, he go off, he did, down in 
de bushes atter han’ful er switches. Ole Brer Rabbit, 
he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but he feelin’ mighty lonesome, 
en he sot dar lookin’ like eve’y minnit wuz gwineter 
be de nex’. En w’iles Mr. Man wuz off prepa’r’n his 
bresh-broom, who should come p’radin’ ’long but Brer 
Fox. Brer Fox make a great ’miration, he did, ’bout 
de fix w’at he fine Brer Rabbit in, but Brer Rabbit he 
make like he fit ter kill hisse’f laffin’, en he up’n tell 
Bier Fox, he did, dat Miss Meadows’s fokes want ’im 
ter go down ter der house in ’tennunce on a weddin’, 
en he ’low w’ich he couldn’t, en dey ’low how he could, 
en den bimeby dey take’n tie ’im dar w’iles dev go atter 
de preacher, so he be dar w’en dey come back. En mo’n 
dat, Brer Rabbit up’n tell Brer Fox dat his chillun’s 
mighty low wid de fever, en he bleedzd ter go atter some 
pills fer m, en he ax Brer Fox fer ter take his place en 


MR. FOX GETS INTO SERIOUS BUSINESS. 143 


go down ter Miss Meadows’s en have nice time wid 
de gals. Brer Fox, he in fer dem kinder pranks, en 



dar in his place, en den he make like he got ter 
make ’as’e en git de pills fer dem sick chilluns. Brer 
Babbit wa’n’t mo’n out er sight ’fo’ yer come Mr. Man 
wid a han’ful er hick’ries, but w’en he see Brer Fox tied 
up dar, he look like he ’stonished. 

“ < Heyo ! ’ sez Mr. Man, sezee, ‘ you done change 
color, en you done got bigger, en yo’ tail done grow 
out. W’at kin’er w’atzyname is you, ennyhow ? ’ sezee. 

“ Brer Fox, he stay still, en Mr. Man, he talk on : 








144 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“ ‘ Hit’s mighty big luck,’ sezee, ‘ ef w’en I ketch de 
chap w’at nibble my greens, likewise I ketch de feller 
w’at gnyaw my goose,’ sezee, en wid dat he let inter 
Brer Fox wid de hick’ries, en de way he play rap-jacket 
wuz a caution ter de naberhood. Brer Fox, he juk en 
he jump, en he squeal en he squall, but Mr. Man, he 
shower down on ’im, he did, like fightin’ a red was’- 
nes’.” 


The little boy laughed, and Uncle Remus supple¬ 
mented this indorsement of his descriptive powers with 
a most infectious chuckle. 

“ Bimeby,” continued the old man, “de switches, 
dey got frazzle out, en Mr. Man, he put out atter mo’, 
en w’en he done got fa’rly outer yearin’, Brer Rabbit, 
he show’d up, he did, kaze he des bin hidin’ out in de 
bushes lis’nin’ at de racket, en he ’low hit mighty funny 
dat Miss Meadows ain’t come ’long, kaze he done bin 
down ter de doctor house, en dat’s fudder dan de 
preacher, yit. Brer Rabbit make like he hurr’in’ on 
home, but Brer Fox, he open up, he did, en he say : 

“ ‘ 1 thank 7 0u fer ter tu’n me loose, Brer Rabbit, 
en I’ll be ’blije,’ sezee, ‘kaze you done tie me up so 
tight dat' it make my head swim, en I don’t speck I’d 
las’ fer ter git ter Miss Meadows’s’, sezee. 

“ Brer Rabbit, he sot down sorter keerless like, en 
begin fer ter scratch one year like a man studyin’ ’bout 
sump’n. 

Dat’s so, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘you duz look sorter 


MR. FOX GETS INTO SERIOUS BUSINESS. 145 


stove up. Look like sump’n bin onkoamin’ yo’ ha’rs,’ 
sezee. 

“Brer Fox ain’t sayin’ nothin’, but Brer Rabbit, he 
keep on talkin’ : 

I?ey ain’t no bad feelin’s ’twix’ 
us, is dey, Brer Fox ? Kaze ef 
dey is, I ain’t got no time 
fer ter be 
tarryin’ 



v t 

" • " '/ % * “ Brer Fox say 

w’ich he don’t 

have no onfrennelness, en wid dat Brer Rabbit cut 
Brer Fox loose des in time fer ter hear Mr. Man 
w’isserlin up his dogs, en one went one way en de 
udder went nudder.” 







146 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


xxx. 

HOW MR. RABBIT SUCCEEDED IN RAISING A DUST. 

“ In dem times,” said Uncle Bemus, gazing admir- 
ingly at himself in a fragment of looking-glass, “ Brer 
Babbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Coon, en dem yuther 
creeturs go co’tin’ en sparklin’ ’roun’ de naberhood 
mo samer dan folks. ’Twan’t no i Lemme a hoss,’ ner 
‘ Fetch me my buggy,’ but dey des upn lit out en tote 
deyse’f. Dar’s ole Brer Fox, he des wheel ’roun’ en 
fetch his flank one swipe wid ’is tongue en he’d be 
koam up ; en Brer Babbit, he des spit on his han’ en 
twis’ it ’roun’ ’mongst de roots er his years en his ha’r’d 
be roach. Dey wuz dat flirtashus,” continued the old 
man, closing one eye at his image in the glass, “ dat Miss 
Meadows en de gals don’t §e no peace fum one week 
een’ ter de udder. Chuseday wuz same as Sunday, en 
Friday wuz same as Chuseday, en hit come down ter 
dat pass dat w’en Miss Meadows ’ud have chicken-fixins 
fer dinner, in ’ud drap Brer Fox en Brer Possum, en 
w’en she’d have fried greens in ’ud pop ole Brer Babbit, 
twel ’las’ Miss Meadows, she tuck’n tell de gals dat she 
be dad-blame ef she gwineter keep no tavvum. So dey 
fix it up ’mong deyse’f, Miss Meadows en de gals did, 
dat de nex’ time de gents call dey’d gin um a game. 
De gents, dey wuz a co’tin, but Miss Meadows, she don’t 
wanter marry none un um, en needer duz de gals, en 


SOW MR. RABBIT SUCCEEDED IN RAISING A DUST. 147 

likewise dey don’t wanter have urn pester’n ’roun’. Las’, 
one Chuseday, Miss Meadows, she tole um dat ef dey 
come down ter her house de nex’ Sat’day evenin’, de 
whole caboodle un um ’ud go down de road a piece, 
whar der wuz a big flint rock, en de man w’at could 
take a sludge-hammer en knock de dus’ out’n dat rock, 
he wuz de man w’at ’ud git de pick er de gals. Dey all 
say dey gwine do it, but ole Brer Rabbit, he crope off 
whar der wuz a cool place under some jimson weeds, 
en dar he sot wukkin his mind how he 
gwineter git dus’ out’n dat rock. Bime- 
by, w’ile he wuz a settin’ dar, up he 
jump en crack his heels tergedder en 
sing out: 

“ ‘ Make a bow ter de Buzzard en 
den ter de Crow, 

Takes a limber-toe gemmun fer 
ter jump Jim Crow,’ 



en wid dat he put out for Brer 
Coon house en borrer his slip 
pers. W’en Sat’day evenin’ 
come, dey wuz all dere. Miss 
Meadows en de gals, dey wuz 
dere; en Brer Coon, en Brex 
Fox, en Brer Possum, en Brer 
Tarrypin, dey wuz dere.” 

Where was the Rabbit ? ” the little boy asked. 
Fouk’n put yo’ ’pennunce in ole Brer Rabbit,” 


148 LEGENDS OF THE OLD’ PLANTATION. 


the old man replied, with a chuckle. “ He wuz dere, 
but he shuffle up kinder late, kaze w’en Miss Meadows 
en de ballunee un um done gone down ter de place, Brer 
Babbit, he crope ’roun’ ter de ash-hopper, en fill Brer 
Coon slippers full er ashes, en den he tuck’n put um on 
en march oif. He got dar atter ’w’ile, en soon’s Miss 
Meadows en de gals seed ’im, dey up’n giggle, en make 
a great ’miration kaze Brer Babbit got on slippers. 
Brer Fox, he so smart, he holler out, he did, en say 
he lay Brer Babbit got de groun’-eatch, but Brer Bab' 
bit, he sorter shet one eye, he did, en say, sezee : 

“ ‘ I bin so useter ridin’ hoss-back, ez deze ladies 
knows, dat I’m gittin’ sorter tender-footed ; ’ en dey 
don’t hear much mo’ fum Brer Fox dat day, kaze he 
’member how Brer Babbit done bin en rid him ; en hit 
’uz des ’bout much ez Miss Meadows en de gals could 
do fer ter keep der snickers fum gittin’ up a ’sturbance 
’mong de congergashun. But, never mine dat, old 
Brer Babbit, he wuz dar, en he so brash dat leetle mo’ 
en he’d er grab up de sludge-hammer en er open up de 
racket ’fo’ ennybody gun de word ; but Brer Fox, he 
shove Brer Babbit out’n de way en pick up de sludge 
hisse’f. How den,” continued the old man, with pretty 
much the air of one who had been the master of similar 
ceremonies, “ de progance wuz dish yer: Eve’y gent 
wer ter have th’ee licks at de rock, en de gent w’at fetch 
de dus’ he wer de one w’at gwineter take de pick er de 
gals. Ole Brer Fox, he grab de sludge-hammer, he did, 


HOW MR. RABBIT SUCCEEDED IN RAISING A DUST. 449 

en lie come down on de rock —blim ! No das’ ain’t 
come. Den he draw back en down he come ag’in— 

blam! No dus’ ain’t come. 



blap! En yit no dus’ 
ain’t dew’d. Den Brer Possum he make triul, en 
Brer Coon, en all de ballunce un um ’cep’ Brer Tar- 
rypin, en he ’low dat he got a crick in his neck. 
Den Brer Babbit, he grab holt er de sludge, en he lipt 
up in de a’r en come down on de rock all at de same 
time —pow !—en de ashes, dey dew’d up so, dey did, 














150 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


dat Brer Fox, he tuck’n had a sneezin’ spell, en Miss 
Meadows en de gals dey up’n koff. Th’ee times Brer 
Babbit jump up en crack his heels tergedder en come 
down wid de sludge-hammer— ker-blam ! —en eve’y 
time he jump up, he holler out: 

“ ‘ Stan’ fudder, ladies ! Yer come de dus’! ’ en sho 
nuff, de dus’ come. 

“ Leas’wajs,” continued Uncle Bemus, “ Brer Bab¬ 
bit got one er de gals, en dey had a weddin’ en a big 
infa’r.” 

“ Which of the girls did the Babbit marry ? ” asked 
the little boy, dubiously. 

“ I did year tell un ’er name,” replied the old man, 
with a great affectation of interest, “but look like I 
done gone en fergit it off’n my mine. Ef I don’t dis- 
remember,” he continued, “ hit wuz Miss Molly Cotton¬ 
tail, en I speck we better let it go at dat.” 


A PLANTATION WITCH. 

The next time the little boy got permission to call 
upon Lncle Bemus, the old man was sitting in his 
door, with his elbows on his knees and his face 
buried in his hands, and he appeared to be in great 
trouble. 



A PLANTATION WITCH. 


151 


u What’s the matter, Uncle Remus ?” the youngster 
asked. 

“ Nuff de matter, honey—mo’ dan dey’s enny kyo 
fer. Ef dey ain’t some quare gwines on ’roun’ dis 
place I ain’t name Remus.” 

The serious tone of the old man caused the little 
boy to open his eyes. The moon, just at its full, cast 
long, vague, wavering shadows in front of the cabin. 
A colony of tree-frogs somewhere in the distance were 
treating their neighbors to a serenade, but to the little 
boy it sounded like a chorus of lost and long-forgotten 
whistlers. The sound was wherever the imagination 
chose to locate it—to the right, to the left, in the air, 
on the ground, far away or near at hand, but always 
dim and always indistinct. Something in Uncle Re¬ 
mus’s tone exactly fitted all these surroundings, and the 
child nestled closer to the old man. 

“ Yasser,” continued Uncle Remus, with an ominous 
sigh and mysterious shake of the head, “ ef dey ain’t 
some quare gwines on in dish yer naberhood, den I’m 
de ball-headest creetur ’twix’ dis en nex’ Jinawerry wuz 
a year ’go, w’ich I knows I ain’t. Dat’s what.” 

“ What is it, Uncle Remus ? ” 

“ I know Mars John bin drivin’ Cholly sorter hard 
ter-day, en I say ter myse’f dat I’d drap ’roun’ ’bout dus’ 
en fling nudder year er corn in de troff en kinder gin 
’im a techin’ up wid de kurrier-koam ; en bless grashus ! 

I ain’t bin in de lot mo’n a minnit ’fo’ I seed sump’n 


152 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


wuz wrong wid de hoss, and sho’ nuff dar wuz his mane 
full er witch-stirrups.” 

“ Full of what, Uncle Remus ? 

“ Full er witch-stirrups, honey. Ain’t you seed no 
witch-stirrups ? Well, w’en you see two stran’ er ha’r 
tied tergedder in a hoss’s mane, dar you see a witch- 
stirrup, en, mo’n dat, dat hoss done bin rid by um” 

“ Do you reckon they have been riding Charley ? ” 
inquired the little boy. 

“ Co’se, honey. Tooby sho dey is. W’at else dey 
bin doin’ ? ” 

“ Did you ever see a witch, Uncle Remus ? ” 

“ Dat ain’t needer yer ner dar. W’en I see coon 
track in de branch, I know de coon bin ’long dar.” 

The argument seemed unanswerable, and the little 
boy asked, in a confidential tone : 

“ Uncle Remus, what are witches like ? ” 

“ Dey comes diffunt,” responded the cautious old. 

darkey. “Dey comes en 



dey cunjus fokes. Squinch- 
owl holler eve’y time he see a 
witch, en w’en you hear de 
dog howlin’ in de middle er de 
night, one un urn’s mighty ap* 


^ ter be prowlin’ ’roun’. Cunjun fokes 

^ kin tell a witch de minnit dey lays der 

eyes on it, but dem w’at ain’t cunjun, hit’s 
mighty hard ter tell w’en dey see one, kaze dey might 


* 

Y 



k » 


Yer come a great big black wolf.” 








A PLANTATION WITCH. 


155 


“ Toob J sho,-honey. You see yo’ pa pull his shut 
off ? Well, dat dez ’zackly de way dey duz. But dish 
yere nigger w’at I’m tellin’ you ’bout, he kyo’d his brer 
de ve’y fus pass he made at him. Hit got so dat fokes 
in de settlement didn’t have no peace. De chilluns ’ud 
wake up in de mawnins wid der ha’r tangle up, en wid 
scratches on um like dey bin thoo a brier-patch, twel 
bimeby one day de nigger he ’low dat he’d set up dat 
night en keep one eye on his brer; en sho’ nuff dat 
night, des ez de chickens wnz crowin’ fer twelve, up 
jump de brer an pull off his skin en sail out’n de house 
in de shape un a bat, en w’at duz de nigger do but grab 
up de hide, en turn it wrongsudout’ards en sprinkle it 
wid salt. Den he lay down en watch fer ter see w’at 
de news wuz gwineter be. Des ’fo’ day yer come a big 
black cat in de do’, en de nigger git up, he did, en 
druv her away. Bimeby, yer come a big black dog 
snuffin’ roun’, en de nigger up wid a chunk, en lammed 
’im side er de head. Den a squinch-owl lit on de koam 
er de house, en de nigger jam de shovel in de her en 
make ’im flew away. Las’, yer come a great big black 
wolf wid his eyes shinin’ like fier coals, en he grab de 
hide and rush out. ’Twa’n’t long ’fo’ de nigger year 
his brer holler’n en squallin’, en he tuck a light, he did, 
en went out, en dar wuz his brer des a waller’n on de 
groun’ en squirmin’ ’roun’, kaze de salt on de skin wuz 
stingin’ wuss’n ef he had his britches lineded wid 
yaller-jackets. By nex’ mawnin’ he got so he could 


156 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

sorter shuffle ’long, but he gun up cunjun, en ef dere 
wuz enny mo’ witches in dat settlement dey kep’ 
mighty close, en dat nigger he ain’t skunt hisse’f no 
mo’ not endurin’ er my ’membunce.” 

The result of this was that Uncle Remus had to 
take the little boy by the hand and go with him to 
the “ big house,” which the old man was not loath to 
do \ and, when the child went to bed, he lay awake a 
long time expecting an unseemly visitation from some 
mysterious source. It soothed him, however, to hear 
the strong, musical voice of his sable patron, not very 
far away, tenderly contending with a lusty tune; and 
to this accompaniment the little boy dropped asleep: 

“ Hit’s eighteen hunder’d, forty-en-eight, 

Christ done made dat crooked way straight— 

^En I don t wanter stay here no longer; 

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d, forty-en-nine, 

Christ done turn dat water inter wine_ 

En I don t wanter stay here no longer,” 


XXXII. 

“ JACK Y-M Y-LA NTERN” * 

Upon his next visit to Uncle Remus, the little boy 
was exceedingly anxious to know more about witches, 

riJl^nS St ° ry i !. P ° pU f“ on the coast and amon g the rice-planta¬ 
tions, and, since the publication of some of the animal-myths in the 



JACKY-MY-LANTERNV 


but the old man prudently refrained from exciting the 
youngster’s imagination any further in that direction. 
Uncle Remus had a board across his lap, and, armed 
with a mallet and a shoe-knife, was engaged in making 
shoe-pegs. 

“W’iles I wuz crossin’ de branch des now,” he 
said, endeavoring to change the subject, “I come up 
wida Jacky-my-lantern, en she wuz bu’nin’ wuss’n a 
bunch er lightnin’-bugs, mon. I know’d she wuz a 
fixin’ fer ter lead me inter dat quoginire down in de 
swamp, en I steer’d cle’r un ’er. Yasser. I did dat. 
You ain’t never seed no Jacky-my-lanterns, is you, 
honey ? ” 

The little boy never had, but he had heard of them, 
and he wanted to know what they were, and thereupon 
Uncle Remus proceeded to tell him. 

“ One time,” said the old darkey, transferring his 
spectacles from his nose to the top of his head and 
leaning his elbows upon his peg-board, “ dere wuz a 
blacksmif man, en dish yer blacksmif man, he tuck’n 
stuck closer by his dram dan he did by his bellus. 
Monday mawnin’ he’d git on a spree, en all dat week 
he’d be on a spree, en de nex’ Monday mawnin’ he’d 
take a fresh start. Bimeby, one day, atter de black- 

newspapers, I have received a version of it from a planter in south¬ 
west Georgia; but it seems to me to be an intruder among the 
genuine myth-stories of the negroes. It is a trifle too elaborate. 
Nevertheless, it is told upon the plantations with great gusto, and 
there are several versions in circulation. 




158 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

smif bin spreein’ ’roun’ en cussin’ might’ly, lie hear a 
sorter rustlin’ fuss at de do’, en in walk de Bad Man.” 

“ Who, Uncle Remus ? ” the little boy asked. 

“ De Bad Man, honey; de Ole Boy hisse’f right 
fresh from de ridjun w’at you year Miss Sally readin 5 
’bout. He done hide his hawns, en his tail, en his 
hoof, en he come dress up like w’ite fokes. He tuck 
off his hat en he bow, en den he tell de blacksmif who 
he is, en dat he done come atter ’im. Den de black¬ 
smif, he gun ter cry en beg, en he beg so hard en he 
cry so loud dat de Bad Man say he make a trade wid 
’im. At de een’ cr one year de sperit er de blacksmif 
wuz to be his’n en endurin’ er dat time de blacksmif 
mus’ put in his hottes’ licks in de intruss er de Bad 
Man, en den he put a spell on de cheer de blacksmif 
was settin’ in, en on his sludge-hammer. De man 
w’at sot in de cheer couldn’t git up less’n de black¬ 
smif let ’im, en de man w’at pick up de sludge ’ud 
hatter keep on knockin’ wid it twel de blacksmif say 
quit; en den he gun ’im money plenty, en off he put. 

“ De blacksmif, he sail in fer ter have his fun, en he 
have so much dat he done clean forgot ’bout his con- 
track, but bimeby, one day he look down de road, en 
dar he see de Bad Man cornin’, en den he know’d de 
year wuz out. W’en de Bad Man got in de do’, de 
blacksmif wuz poundin’ ’way at a hoss-shoe, but he 
wa’n’t so bizzy dat he didn’t ax ’im in. De Bad Man 
sorter do like he ain’t got no time fer ter tarry, but de 


J ACKY-M Y-L ANTERN.’ 


159 


blacksmif say he got some little jobs dat he bleedzd ter 
finish up, en den he ax de Bad Man fer ter set down a 
minnit; en de Bad Man, he 



fun at de Bad Man, 
en he ax him don’t he 


want a dram, en won’t he hitch his cheer up little 
nigher de fier, en de Bad Man, he beg en he beg, 
but ’twan’t doin’ no good, kase de blacksmif ’low 
dat he gwineter keep ’im dar twel he promus dat he 
let ’im off one year mo’, en, sho nuff, de Bad Man 
promus dat ef de blacksmif let ’im up he give ’im 

















160 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


a n’er showin’. So den de blacksmif gnn de wud, en 
de Bad Man sa’nter off down de big road, settin’ 
traps en layin’ his progance fer ter ketch mo’ sinners. 

“ Be nex’ year hit pass same like t’er one. At de 
’p’inted time yer come de Ole Boy atter de blacksmif, 
but still de blacksmif had some jobs dat he bleedzd ter 
finish up, en he ax de Bad Man fer ter take holt er de 
sludge en he’p ’im out; en de Bad Man, he ’low dat 
r’er’n be disperlite, he don’t keer ef he do hit ’er a biff 
er two; en wid dat he grab up de sludge, en dar he 
wuz ’gin, kase he done conju’d de sludge so dat who^ 
somedever tuck ’er up can’t put ’er down less’n de 
blacksmif say de wud. Dey perlaver’d dar, dey did, 
twel bimeby de Bad Man he up’n let ’im off n’er 
year. 

“ Well, den, dat year pass same ez t’er one. Mont’ 
in en mont’ out dat man wuz rollin’ in dram, en 
bimeby yer come de Bad Man. De blacksmif cry en 
he holler, en he rip ’roun’ en t’ar his ha’r, but hit des 
like he didn’t, kase de Bad Man grab ’im up en cram 
’im in a bag en tote ’im off. W’iles dey wuz gwine 
’long dey come up wid a passel er fokes w’at wuz 
havin’ wunner deze yer fote er July bobby cues, en de 
Ole Boy, he ’low dat maybe he kin git some mo’ game, 
en w’at do he do but jine in wid um. He jines in en 
he talk politics same like t’er fokes, twel bimeby din¬ 
nertime come ’roun’, en dey ax ’im up, w’ich ’greed 
wid his stummuck, en he pozzit his bag underneed de 


JACKY-MY-LANTERN.’ 


161 


table ’longside de udder bags w’at de hongry fokes’d 
brung. 

“No sooner did de blacksmif git back on de groun’ 
dan be ’gun ter wuk bis way outer de bag. He crope 
out, he did, en den he tuck’n change de bag. He 
tuck’n tuck a n’er bag en lay it down whar dish yer 
bag wuz, en den he crope outer de crowd en lay low in 
de underbresh. 

“ has’, w’en de time come fer ter go, de Ole Boy up 
wid his bag en slung her on his shoulder, en off he put 
fer de Bad Place. W’en he got dar he tuck’n drap de 
bag off’n his back en call up de imps, en dey des come 
a squallin’ en a caperin’, w’ich I speck dey mus’ a bin 
hongry. Leas’ways dey des swawm’d ’roun’, hollerin 
out: 

“ ‘ Daddy, w’at you brung—daddy, w’at you brung ? ’ 

“ So den dey open de bag, en lo en beholes, out 
jump a big bull-dog, en de way he shuck dem little 
imps wuz a caution, en he kep’ on gnyawin’ un um 
twel de Ole Boy open de gate en tu’n ’im out.” 

“ And what became of the blacksmith \ ” the little 
boy asked, as Uncle Kemus paused to suuff the candle 
with his fingers. 

“ I’m drivin’ on ’roun’, honey. Atter ’long time, 
de blacksmif he tuck’n die, en w’en he go ter de Good 
Place de man at de gate dunner who he is, en he can’t 
squeeze in. Den he go down ter de Bad Place, en 
knock. De Ole Boy, he look out, he did, en he 


162 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


know’d de blacksmif de minnit he laid eyes on ’im; 
but he shake his head en say, sezee: 

“ ‘ You’ll hatter skuze me, Brer 

Blacksmif, kase I dun had ’speunce 

’longer you. You’ll hatter go som- 
e’rs else ef you wanter raise 
enny racket,’ sezee, en wid 
dat he shet de do’. . 

“En dey do say,” continued 
Uncle Remus, with unc¬ 

tion, “dat sence dat day 
de blacksmif bin sorter 
‘huv’rin’ ’roun’ ’twix’ 
de heavens en de 
• ye’th, en dark nights 
he shine out so fokes 
call ’im Jacky-my-lan- 
tun. Dat’s w’at dey 

tells me. Hit may be 
wrong er’t maybe right, 
but dat’s w’at I years.” 













WHY THE NEGRO IS BLACK. 

XXXIII. 

WRY THE NEGRO IS BLACK. 

One night, while the little boy was watching Uncle 
Remus twisting and waxing some shoe-thread, he made 
what appeared to him to be a very curious discovery. 
He discovered that the palms of the old man’s hands 
were as white as his own, and the fact was such a source 
of wonder that he at last made it the subject of remark. 
The response of Uncle Remus led to the earnest recital 
of a piece of unwritten history that must prove inter¬ 
esting to ethnologists. 

“ Tooby sho de pa’m er my han’s w’ite, honey,” he 
quietly remarked, “ en, w’en it come ter dat, dey wuz 
a time w’en all de w’ite folks ’uz black—blacker dan 
me, kaze I done bin yer so long dat I bin sorter bleach 
out.” 

The little boy laughed. He thought Uncle Remus 
was making him the victim of one of his jokes ; but 
the youngster was never more mistaken. The old 
man was serious. Nevertheless, he failed to rebuke 
the ill-timed mirth of the child, appearing to be alto¬ 
gether engrossed in his work. After a while he re¬ 
sumed : 

“ Yasser. Fokes dunner w’at bin yit, let ’lone w’at 
gwineter be. Niggers is niggers now, but de time wuz 
w’en we ’uz all niggers tergedder.” 


* 

V V 

163 


164 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

“ When was that, Uncle Remus ? ” 

“ Waj back yander. In dem times we ’uz all un 
us black; we ’uz all niggers tergedder, en ’cordin’ ter 
all de ’counts w’at I years fokes ’uz gittin ’long ’bout ez 
well in dem days ez dey is now. But atter ’w’ile de 
news come dat dere wuz a pon’ er water some’rs in de 
naberhood, w’ich ef dey’d git inter dey’d be wash oil 
nice en w’ite, en den one un um, he fine de place en 
make er splunge inter de pon’, en come out w’ite ez a 
town gal. En den, bless grashus ! w’en de fokes seed 
it, dey make a break fer de pon’, en dem w’at wuz de 
soopless, dey got in fus’ en dey come out w’ite ; en dem 
w’at wuz de nex’ soopless, dey got in nex’, en dey come 
out merlatters; en dey wuz sech a crowd un um dat 
dey mighty nigh use de water up, w’ich w’en dem 
yuthers come ’long, de morest dey could do wuz ter 
paddle about wid der foots en dabble in it wid der 
hail’s. Dem wuz de niggers, en down ter dis day dey 
ain’t no w’ite ’bout a nigger ’ceppin de pa’ms er der 
han’s en de soles er der foot.” 

The little boy seemed to be very much interested in 
this new account of the origin of races, and he made 
some further inquiries, which elicited from Uncle Re¬ 
mus the following additional particulars : 

“ De Injun en de Chinee got ter be ’counted ’long 
er de merlatter. I ain’t seed no Chinee dat I knows 
un, but dey tells me dey er sorter ’twix’ a brown en a 
brindle. Dey er all merlatters.” 


THE SAD FATE OF MR. FOX. 165 

“ But mamma says the Chinese have straight hair,” 
the little boy suggested. 

“ Co’se, honey,” the old man unhesitatingly re¬ 
sponded, “ dem w’at git ter de pon’ time nuff fer ter 
git der head in de water, de water hit onkink der ha’r. 
Hit bleedzd ter be dat away.” 


xxxiv. 

THE SAD FATE OF MR. FOX. 

“ How, den,” said Uncle Bemus, with unusual 
gravity, as soon as the little boy, by taking his seat, 
announced that he was ready for the evening’s enter¬ 
tainment to begin; “ now, den, dish yer dale w’at I’m 
agwine ter gin you is de las’ row er stumps, sho. Dish 
yer’s whar ole Brer Fox los’ his breff, en he ain’t fine it 
no mo’ down ter dis day.” 

“ Did he kill himself, Uncle Bemus ? ” the little boy 
asked, with a curious air of concern. 

u Hole on dar, honey ! ” the old man exclaimed, 
with a great affectation of alarm ; “ hole on dar ! 
Wait! Gimme room ! I don’t wanter tell you no 
story, en ef you keep shovin’ me forrerd, I mout git 
some er de facks mix up ’mong deyse’f. You gotter 
gimme room en you gotter gimme time.” 

The little boy had no other premature ques- 


166 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 

tions to ask, and, after a pause, Uncle Remus re¬ 
sumed : 

“ Well, den, one day Brer Rabbit go ter Brer Fox 
house, he did, en he put up mighty po’ mouf. He say 
his ole ’oman sick, en his chilluns cole, en de fier done 
gone out. Brer Fox, he feel bad ’bout dis, en he tuck’n 
s’ply Brer Rabbit widder chunk er fier. Brer Rabbit 
see Brer Fox cookin’ some nice beef, en his mouf gun 
ter water, but he take de fier, he did, en he put out 
to’rds home ; but present’y yer he come back, en he say 
de fier done gone out. Brer Fox ’low dat he want er 
invite to dinner, but he don’t say nuthin’, en bimeby 
Brer Rabbit he up’n say, sezee : 

“ 4 Brer Fox, whar you git so much nice beef ? ’ 
sezee, en den Brer Fox he up’n ’spon’, sezee : 

“ ‘ You come ter my house ter-morrer ef yo’ fokes 
ain’t too sick, en I kin show you whar you kin git 
plenty beef mo’ nicer dan dish yer,’ sezee : 

“ Well, sho nuff, de nex’ day fotch Brer Rabbit, en 
Brer Fox say, sezee : 

“‘ Der’s a man down yander by Miss Meadows’s 
w’at got heap er fine cattle, en he gotter cow name 
Bookay,’ sezee, ’en you des go en say Bookay , en she’ll 
open her mouf, en you kin jump in en git des as much 
meat ez you kin tote,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

‘“Well, I’ll go ’long,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en 
you kin jump fus’ en den I’ll come follerin’ atter,’ sezee. 

“ Wid dat dey put out, en dey went promernadin’ 


THE SAD FATE OF ME. FOX. 167 

’roun’ ’mong de cattle, dey did, twel bimeby dey struck 
up wid de one dey wuz atter. Brer Fox, he up, he did, 




en holler Boo- 
Jcay, en de 
( f cow flung ’er 
mouf wide 
open. Sho nuff, 
in dey jump, 
en w’en dey got 
dar, Brer Fox, 
he say, sezee: 

“ ‘ You kin 
cut mos’ enny- 

wheres, Brer Rabbit, but don’t cut ’roun’ de haslett,’ 
sezee. 


“ Den Brer Rabbit, he holler back, he did : ‘ I’m a 
gitten me out a roas’n-piece,’ sezee. 

“ ‘ Roas’n, er bakin’, er fryin’,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, 
6 don’t git too nigh de haslett,’ sezee. 

“ Dey cut en dey kyarved, en dey kyarved en dey 
cut, en w’iles dey wuz cuttin’ en kyarvin’, en slashin’ 
’way, Brer Rabbit, he tuck’n hacked inter de haslett, 
en wid dat down fell de cow dead. 


168 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. * 


“ ‘ Now, den,’ sez Brer Fox, ‘we er gone, sho, ? 
sezee. 

“ ‘ W’at we gwine do ? ’ sez Brer Babbit, sezee. 

“‘I’ll git in de maul,’ sez Brer Fox, ‘en you’ll 
jump in de gall,’ sezee. 

“ Bex’ mawnin’ yer cum de man w’at de cow 
b’long ter, an he ax who kill Bookay. Nobody don’t 
say nuthin’. Den de man say he’ll cut ’er open en see, 
en den he whirl in, en twan’t no time ’fo’ he had ’er 
intruls spread out. Brer Babbit, he crope out’n de 
gall, en say, sezee: 

“ ‘ Mister Man ! Oh, Mister Man ! I’ll tell you 
who kill yo’ cow. You look in de maul, en dar you’ll 
fine ’im,’ sezee. 

“ Wid dat de man tuck a stick and lam down on de 
maul so hard dat he kill Brer Fox stone-dead. W’en 
Brer Babbit see Brer Fox wuz laid out fer good, he 
make like he mighty sorry, en he up’n ax de man fer 
Brer Fox head. Man say he ain’t keerin’, en den Brer 
Babbit tuck’n brung it ter Brer Fox house. Dar he 
see ole Miss Fox, en he tell ’er dat he done fotch her 
some nice beef w’at ’er ole man sont ’er, but she ain’t 
gotter look at it twel she go ter eat it. 

“ Brer Fox son wuz name Tobe, en Brer Babbit tell 
Tobe fer ter keep still w’iles his mammy cook de nice 
beef w’at his daddy sont ’im. Tobe he wuz mighty 
hongry, en he look in de pot he did w’iles de cookin’ 
wuz gwine on, en dar he see his daddy head, en wid 


THE SAD FATE OF MR. FOX. 159 

dat he sot up a howl en tole his mammy. Miss Fox, 
she git mighty mad w’.en she fine she cookin’ her ole 
man head, en she call up de dogs, she did, en sickt em 
on Brer Babbit; en ole Miss Fox en Tobe en de dogs, 
dey push Brer Babbit so close dat he hatter take a 
holler tree. Miss Fox, she tell Tobe fer ter stay dar 
en mine Brer Babbit, w’ile she goes en git de ax, en 
w’en she gone, Brer Babbit, he tole Tobe ef he go ter 
de branch en git ’im a drink er water dat he’ll gin ’im a 
dollar. Tobe, he put out, he did, en bring some water 
in his hat, but by de time he got back Brer Babbit 
done out en gone. Ole Miss Fox, she cut and cut twel 
down come de tree, but no Brer Babbit dar. Den she 
lay de blame on Tobe, en she say she gwineter lash 
’im, en Tobe, he put out en run, de ole ’oman atter 
’im. Bimeby, he come up wid Brer Babbit, en sot 
down fer to tell ’im how ’twuz, en w’iles dey wuz a 
settin’ dar, yer come _ ole Miss Fox a slippin’ up en 
grab um bofe. Den she tell um w’at she gwine do. 
Brer Babbit she gwineter kill, en Tobe she gwineter 
lam ef its de las’ ack. Den Brer Babbit sez, sezee: 

“ ‘ Ef you please, ma’am, Miss Fox, lay me on de 
grinestone en groun’ off my nose so I can’t smell no 
mo’ w’en I’m dead.’ 

“ Miss Fox, she tuck dis ter be a good idee, en she 
fotch bofe un um ter de grinestone, en set um up on 
it so dat she could groun’ off Brer Babbit nose. Den 

Brer Babbit, he up’n say, sezee: 

13 


170 LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION. 


“‘Ef you please, ma’am, Miss Fox, Tobe lie kin 
turn de handle w’iles you goes atter some water fer ter 
wet de grinestone,’ sezee. 



atter de water, he jump down en put out, en dis time 
he git clean away.” 

And was that the last of the Rabbit, too, Uncle 
Remus?” the little boy asked, with something like a 
sigh. 

Don’t push me too close, honey,” responded the 
old man; “don’t shove me up in no cornder. I don’t 
wanter tell you no stories. Some say dat Brer Rab- 














THE SAD FATE OF MR. FOX. 


171 


bit’s ole ’oman died fum eatin’ some pizen-weed, en dat 
Brer Rabbit married ole Miss Fox, en some say not. 
Some tells one tale en some tells nudder; some say dat 
fum dat time forrer’d de Rabbits en de Foxes make 
frien’s en stay so; some say dey kep on quollin’. Hit 
look like it mixt. Let dem tell you w’at knows. Dat 
w’at I years you gits it straight like I yeard it.” 

There was a long pause, which was finally broken 
by the old man : 

“ Hit’s ’gin de rules fer, you ter be noddin’ yer, 
honey. Bimeby you’ll drap off en I’ll hatter tote you 
up ter de big ’ouse. I hear dat baby cryin’, en bimeby 
Miss Sally’ll fly up en be a holler’n atter you.” 

“ Oh, I wasn’t asleep,” the little boy replied. “ I 
was just thinking.” 

“ Well, dat’s diffunt,” said the old man. “ Ef 
you’ll clime up on my back,” he continued, speaking 
softly, “ I speck I ain’t too ole fer ter be yo’ hoss fum 
yer ter de house. Many en many’s de time dat I toted 
yo’ Unk Jeems dat away, en Mars Jeems wuz heavier 
sot dan w’at you is.” 

































































































































PLANTATION PROVERBS. 



Big ’possum clime little tree. 

Dem w’at eats kin say grace. 

Ole man Know-All died las’ year. 
Better de gravy dan no grease ’tall. 
Dram ain’t good twel you git it. 

Lazy fokes’ stummucks don’t git tired. 

Rheumatiz don’t he’p at de log-rollin’. 
( 173 ) 









174 


PLANTATION PROVERBS. 


Mole don’t see w’at his naber doin’. 

Save de pacin’ mar’ fer Sunday. 

Don’t rain eve’y time de pig squeal. 

Crow en corn can’t grow in de same fiel’. 

Tattlin’ ’oman can’t make de bread rise. 

Rails split ’fo’ bre’kfus’ ’ll season de dinner. 

Dem w’at knows too much sleeps under de ash-hopper. 
Ef you wanter see yo’ own sins, clean up a new groun’. 
Hog dunner w’ich part un ’im’ll^season de turnip salad. 
Hit’s a blessin’ de w’ite sow don’t shake de plum-tree. 
Winter grape sour, whedder you kin reach ’im or not. 
Mighty po’ bee dat don’t make mo’ honey dan he want. 
Kwishins on mule’s foots done gone out er fashun. 

Pigs dunno w’at a pen’s fer. 

Possum’s tail good as a paw. 

Dogs don’t bite at de front gate. 

Colt in de barley-patch kick high. 

Jay-bird don’t rob his own nes’. 

Pullet can t roost too high for de owl. 

Meat fried ’fo’ day won’t las’ twel night. 

Stump water won’t kyo de gripes. 

De howlin’ dog know w’at he sees. 

Bline hoss don’t fall w’en he follers de bit. 

Hongry nigger won’t w’ar his maul out. 

Don’t fling away de empty wallet. 

Black-snake know de way ter de hin nes’. 

Looks won’t do ter split rails wid. 

Settin’ hens don’t hanker arter fresh aigs. 


PLANTATION PROVERBS. 


175 


Tater-vine growiir w’ile you sleep. 

Hit take two birds fer to make a nes’. 

Ef you bleedzd ter eat dirt, eat clean dirt. 

Tarrypin walk fast ’nuff fer to go visitin’. 

Empty smoke-house makes de pullet holler. 

W’en coon take water he fixin’ fer ter fight. 

Corn makes mo’ at de mill dan it does in de crib. 
Good luck say : “ Op’n yo’ mouf en shet yo’ 
eyes.” 

Nigger dat gets hurt wukkin oughter show de 
skyars. 

Fiddlin’ nigger say hit’s long ways ter de dance. 
^^-Rooster makes mo’ racket dan de hin w’at lay 
de aig. 

Meller mush-million hollers at you fum over de 
fence. 

Nigger wid a pocket-han’kcher better be looked 
atter. 

Rain-crow don’t sing no chune, but youk’n ’pen’ 
on ’im. 

One-eyed mule can’t be handled on de bline side. 
Moon may shine, but a lightered knot’s mighty 
handy. 

Licker talks mighty loud w’en it git loose fum de 

jug* 

De proudness un a man don’t count w’en his head’s 
cold. 

j^Hongry rooster don’t cackle w’en he fine a wum. 


176 


PLANTATION PROVERBS. 


Some niggers mighty smart, but dey can’t drive de 
pidgins ter roos’. 

You may know de way, but better keep yo’ eyes on 
de seven stairs. 

All de buzzards in de settlement ’ll come to de gray 
mule’s funer’l. 

Youk’n bide de fier, but w’at you gwine do wid de 
smoke ? 

Ter-morrow may be de carridge-driver’s day for 
ploughin’. 

Hit’s a mighty deaf nigger dat 
don’t year de dinner-bo’n. 

Hit takes a bee fer ter git de 
sweetness out’n de hoar-koun’ blos¬ 
som. 

Ha’nts don’t bodder longer bones’ 
folks, but you better go ’roun’ de 
grave-yard. 

f - He pig dat runs off wid de 

tflif year er corn gits little mo’ dan 
de cob. 

Sleepin’ in de fence-corn- 
der don’t fetch Cbrismus in de 
kitchen. 

He spring-house may freeze, 
but de niggers ’ll keep de shuck-pen warm. 
’Twix’ de bug en de bee-martin ’tain’t hard ter tell 
w’ich gwineter git kotch. 




PLANTATION PROVERBS. 


m 


Don’t ’spute wid de squinch-owl. Jam de shovel 
in de fier. 

You’d see mo’ er de mink ef he know’d whar de 
yard dog sleeps. 

Troubles is seasonin’. ’Simmons ain’t good twel 
dey ’er fros’-bit. 

Watch out w’en you’er gittin all you want. Fab 
tenin’ hogs ain’t in luck. 




HIS SONGS. 






































































I. 



REVIVAL HYMN. 

Oh, whar shill we go w’en de great day 
comes, 

Wid de blowin’ er de trumpits en de 
bangin’ er de drums ? 

How many po’ sinners’ll be kotched out late 
En fine no latch ter de golden gate ? 

Ho use fer ter wait twel ter-morrer! 

De sun musn’t set on yo’ sorrer, 

Sin’s ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier— 

Oh, Lord ! fetch de mo’ners up higher! 


W’en de nashuns er de earf is a stan’in all aroun’, 
Who’s a gwineter be choosen fer ter w’ar de glory- 
crown ? 

Who’s a gwine fer ter stan’ stiff-kneed en bol’. 

En answer to der name at de callin’ er de roll ? 

You better come now ef you cornin’— 

Ole Satun is loose en a bummin’— 

De wheels er distruckshun is a hummin’— 

Oh, come ’long, sinner, ef you cornin’! 

( 181 ) 



182 


HIS SONGS. 


De song er salvashun is a mighty sweet song, 

En de Pairidise win’ blow fur en blow strong, 

En Aberham’s bosom, hit’s saft en hit’s wide, 

En right dar’s de place whar de sinners oughter hide! 
Oh, you nee’nter be a stoppin’ en a lookin’; 

Ef you fool wid ole Satun you’ll git took in ; 
You’ll hang on de aidge en get shook in, 

Ef you keep on a stoppin’ en a lookin’. 

De time is right now, en dish yer’s de place— 

Let de sun er salvashun shine squar’ in yo’ face; 

Fight de battles er de Lord, fight soon en fight late, 
En you’ll allers fine a latch ter de golden gate. 

No use fer ter wait twel ter-morrer, 

De sun musn’t set on yo’ sorrer— 

Sin’s ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier, 

Ax de Lord fer ter fetch you up higher! 


ii. 

CAMP-MEETING SONG* 

Oh, de worril is roun’ en de worril is wide— 

Lord ! ’member deze chillun in de mornin’— 

* In the days of slavery, the religious services held by the 
negroes who accompanied their owners to the camp-meetings were 
marvels of earnestness and devotion. 






CAMP-MEETING SONG. 


183 


Hit’s a mighty long ways up de mountain side, 

En dey ain’t no place fer dem sinners fer ter hide, 
En dey ain’t no place whar sin kin abide, 

W’en de Lord shill come in de mornin’! 

Look up en look aroun’, 

Fling yo’ burden on de groun’, 

Hit’s a gittin’ mighty close on ter mornin’! 
Smoove away sin’s frown— 

Ketch up en git de crown, 

W’at de Lord will fetch in de mornin’ ! 

De ban’ er ridem’shun, hit’s hilt out ter you— 

Lord ! ’member dem sinners in de mornin’! 

Hit’s a mighty pashent han’, but de days is but few, 
W’en Satun, he’ll come a demandin’ un his due, 

En de stiff-neck sinners ’ll be smotin’ all fru— 

Oh, you better git ready fer de mornin’! 

Look up en set yo’ face 
Todes de green hills er grace 
’Fo’ de sun rises up in de mornin’— 

Oh, you better change yo’ base, 

Hits yo’ soul’s las’ race 
Fer de glory dat’s a coinin’ in de mornin’! 

■ > .* 

De farmer gits ready w’en de Ian’s all plowed 
Fer ter sow dem seeds in de mornin’— 

De sperrit may be puny en de flesh may be proud, 
But you better cut loose fum de scoffin’ crowd, 


184 


HIS SONGS. 


En jine dese Christuns w’at’s a cryin’ out loud 
Fer de Lord fer ter come in de mornin 7 ! 
Shout loud en shout long, 

Let de ekkoes answer strong, 

W’en de sun rises up in de mornin’! 

Oh, you allers will be wrong 
Twel you choose ter belong 
Ter de Marster w 7 at 7 s a comin 7 in de mornin 7 ! 


hi. 

CORN-SHUCKING SONG. 

Oh, de fus news you know de day’ll be a breakin 7 _ 

(Hey 0! Hi O! Up 7 n down de Bango! *) 
An 7 de tier be a burnin 7 en 7 de ash-cake a bakin’, 
(Hey O! Hi O! Up’n down de Bango!) 

An 7 de hen’ll be a hollerin’ en de boss ’ll be a wakin’_ 

(Hey 0! Hi O! Up’n down de Bango!) 
Better git up, nigger, en give yo’se’f a shakin’— 
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!) 

Oh, honey! w’en you see dem ripe stars a failin’_ 

(Hey O! Hi O! Up’n down de Bango!) 

* So far as I know, “ Bango ” is a meaningless term, introduced 
on account of its sonorous ruggedness. 





































4 










































The corn-shucking 





CORN-SHUCKING SONG. jgg 

Oh, honey! w’en you year de rain-crow a callin’_ 

(Hey 0 ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Oh, honey ! w’en you year dat red calf a bawlin’— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Den de day time’s cornin’, a creepin’ en a crawlin’_ 

(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann !) 

Fer de los’ ell en yard * is a huntin’ fer de mornin’, 

(Hi O ! git ’long ! go ’way !) 

En she 11 ketch up widdus ’fo’ we ever git dis corn in_ 

(Oh, go ’way, Sindy Ann !) 

Oh, honey ! w’en you year dat tin horn a tootin’— 

(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Oh, honey, w’en you year de squinch owl a hootin’— 
(Hey O ! Hi 0 ! Up’n down de Bango !). 

Oh, honey ! w’en you year dem little pigs a rootin’— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Bight den she’s a cornin’ a skippin’ en a scootin’— 

(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann !.) 

Oh, honey, w’en you year dat roan mule whicker— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

W’en you see Mister Moon turnin’ pale en gittin’ 
sicker— 

(Hey O! Hi O ! Up ; n down de Bango !) 


* The sword and belt in the constellation of Orion. 
14 





186 


HIS SONGS. 


Den hit’s time fer ter handle dat corn a little quicker— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Ef you wanter git a smell er old Marster’s jug er 
licker— 

(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann !) 

Fer de los’ ell en yard is a huntin’ fer de mornin’ 

(Hi O ! git ’long ! go ’way!) 

En she’ll ketch up widdus ’fo’ we ever git dis corn in— 
(Oh, go ’way, Sindy Ann !) 

You niggers ’cross dar ! you better stop your dancin’— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Ho use fer ter come a hingin’ un yo’ “sha’n’ts” in— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Ho use fer ter come a hingin’ un yo’ “ can’t’s ” in— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Kaze dey ain’t no time fer yo’ pattin’ ner yo’ prancin’! 
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann !) 

Mr. Rabbit see de Fox, en he sass um en jaws um— 
(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Mr. Fox ketch de Rabbit, en he scratch um en he 
claws um— 

(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

En he tar oh de hide, en he chaws um en he 
gnyaws um— 

(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Same like gal chawin’ sweet gum en rozzum— 

(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann !) 


CORN-SHUCKING SONG. 


187 


Fer de los’ ell en yard is a huntin’ fer de mornin’ 

(Hi O ! git ’long ! go ’way !) 

En she 11 ketch up widdus ’fo’ we ever git dis corn in— 
(Oh, go ’way, Sindy Ann !) 

Oh, work on, boys ! give deze shucks a mighty 
wringin’— 

(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

’Fo’ de boss come aroun’ a dangin’ en a dingin’_ 

(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Git up en move aroun’! set dem big han’s ter swingin’_ 

(Hey O ! Hi O ! Up’n down de Bango !) 

Git up n shout loud ! let de w’ite folks year you singin’! 
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann !) 

Fer de los’ ell en yard is a huntin’ fer de mornin’ 

* (Hi O ! git ’long ! go ’way !) 

En she’ll ketdh up widdus ’fo’ we ever git dis corn in. 
(Oh, go ’way Sindy Ann !) 


188 


HIS SONGS. 


IV. 


TEE PLOUGH-HANDS' SONG. 

(Jasper County— 1860 .) 

Nigger mighty happy w’en he layin’ by co’n— 

Dat sun’s a slantin’ ; 

Nigger mighty happy w’en he year de dinner-ho’n— 
Dat sun’s a slantin’; 

En he mo’ happy still w’en de night draws on— 

Dat sun’s a slantin’; 

Dat sun’s a slantin’ des ez sho’s you bo’n ! 

En it’s rise up, Primus ! fetch anudder yell: 

Dat ole dun cow’s des a shakin’ up ’er bell, 

En de frogs chunin’ up ’fo’ de jew done fell: 

Good-night , Mr. Killdee ! I wish you mighty well / 
— Mr. Killdee ! I wish you mighty well! 

—I wish you mighty well! 

De co’n ’ll be ready ’g’inst dumplin day— 

Dat sun’s a slantin’ ; 

But nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay— 

Dat sun’s a slantin’ ; 

Same ez de bee-martin watchin’ un de jay— 

Dat sun’s a slantin’ ; 

Dat sun’s a slantin’ en a slippin’ away ! 

Den it’s rise’up, Primus ! en gin it t’um strong; 

De cow’s gwine home wid der ding-dang-dong— 


CHRISTMAS PLAY-SONG. 


189 


Sling in anudder tetch er de ole-time song : 
Good-night , Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long ! 
— Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long ! 

— Don't stay long ! 


y. 


CHRISTMAS PLAY-SONG. 

(Myrick Place, Putnam County— 1858 .) 

Hi my rinktum ! Black gal sweet, 

Same like goodies w’at de w’ite folks eat; 

Ho my Riley ! don’t you take’n tell ’er name, 

En den ef sumpin’ happen you won’t ketch de blame; 
Hi my rinktum ! better take’n hide yo’ plum ; 

Joree don’t holler eve’y time he fine a wum. 

Den it’s hi my rinktum ! 

Don’t git no udder man ; 

En it’s ho my Riley ! 

Fetch out Miss Dilsey Ann ) 

Ho my Riley ! Yaller gal fine ; 

She may be yone but she oughter be mine ! 

Hi my rinktum ! Lemme git by, 

En see w’at she mean by de cut er dat eye ! 

Ho my Riley ! better shet dat do’— 

De w’ite folks ’ll b’leeve we er t’arin up de flo\ 


190 


HIS SONGS. 


Den it’s ho my Riley ! 

Come a siftin’ up ter me ! 

En it’s hi my rinktum ! 

Dis de way ter twis’ yo’ knee ! 

Hi my rinktum ! Ain’t de eas’ gittin’ red ? 

De squinch owl shiver like he wanter go ter bed ; 
Ho my Riley ! but de gals en de boys, 

Des now gittin’ so dey kin sorter make a noise. 

Hi my rinktum ! let de yaller gal ’lone ; 
jiggers don’t hanker arter sody in de pone. 

Den it’s hi my rinktum ! 

Better try an udder plan ; 

An’ it’s ho my Riley ! 

Trot out Miss Dilsey Ann ! 

Ho my Riley ! In de happy Chrismus’ time 
De niggers shake der cloze a huntin’ fer a dime. 

Hi my rinktum ! En den dey shake der feet, 

En greaze derse’f wid de good ham meat. 

Ho my Riley ! dey eat en dey cram, 

En bimeby ole Miss ’ll be a sendin’ out de dram. 

Den it’s ho my Riley ! 

You hear dat, Sam ! 

En it’s hi my rinktum ! 

Be a sendin’ out de dram ! 


PLANTATION PLAY-SONG. 


191 


VI. 


PLANTATION PLAY-SONG. 
(Putnam County—1856.) 



Hit’s a gittin’ mighty late, w’en de Guinny-hins squall, 
Eu you better dance now, ef you gwineter dance a tall, 
Fer by dis time ter-morrer night you can’t hardly crawl, 
Kaze you’ll hatter take de hoe ag’in en likewise de 
maul— 

Don’t you hear dat bay colt a kickin’ in his stall ? 

Stop yo’ humpin’ up 


yo’ sho’lders— 
Dat’ll never do ! 
Hop light, ladies, 

Oh, Miss Loo! 
Hit takes a heap er 
scrougin’ 

Fer ter git you 
thoo— 

Hop light, ladies, 

Oh, Miss Loo ! 


Ef you niggers don’t watch, you’ll sing anudder 
chune, 

Fer de sun’ll rise’n ketch you ef you don’t be mighty 
soon ; 

En de stars is gittin’ paler, en de ole gray coon 
Is a settin’ in de grape-vine a watchin’ fer de moon. 



192 


HIS SONGS. 


W’en a feller comes a knockin’ 

Des holler— Oh , shoo! 

Hop light, ladies, 

Oh, Miss Loo! 

Oh, swing dat jailer gal! 

Do, boys, do! 

Hop light, ladies, 

Oh, Miss Loo! 

Oh, tu’n me loose! Lemme ’lone! Go way, now! 

W’at you speck I come a dancin’ fer ef I dunno how ? 

Deze de ve’y kinder footses w’at kicks up a row; 

Can’t you jump inter de middle en make yo’ gal a bow? 

Look at dat merlatter man 
A follerin’ up Sue; 

Hop light, ladies, 

Oh, Miss Loo! 

De boys ain’t a gwine 

W’en you cry loo \oo — 

Hop light, ladies, 

Oh, Miss Loo! 


TRANSCRIPTIONS. 


193 


VII. 

TRANSCRIPTIONS* 

1. A Plantation Chant. 

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-fo’, 

Christ done open dat HeVmly do’— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer; 

Hit’s eighteen hnnder’d forty-en-five, 

Christ done made dat dead man alive— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 

You ax me ter run home, 

Little childun— 

Hun home, dat sun done roll— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 


Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-six, 

Christ is got us a place done fix— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer; 
Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-sev’m 
Christ done sot a table in Hev’m— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 


* If these are adaptations from songs the negroes have caught 
from the whites, their origin is very remote. I have transcribed 
them literally, and I regard them as in the highest degree char¬ 
acteristic. 




194 


HIS SONGS. 


You ax me ter run home, 

Little childun— 

Bun home, dat sun done roll— 

An’ I don’t wan ter stay yer no longer. 

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-eight, 

Christ done make dat crooked way straight— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer: 

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-nine, 

Christ done tv’n dat water inter wine_ 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 

You ax me ter run home, 

Little childun— 

Bun home, dat sun done roll— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-ten, 

Christ is de mo’ner’s onliest fr’en’_ 

An I don’t wanter stay yer no longer 5 
Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-’lev’m, 

Christ’ll be at de do’ w’en we all git ter Hev’m_ 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 

You ax me ter run home, 

Little childun— 

Bun home, dat sun done roll— 

An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 


TRANSCRIPTIONS. 


195 



2. A Plantation Serenade. 

J)e ole bee make de honey-comb, 
De young bee make de honey, 
De niggers make de cotton en 
co’n, 

En de w’ite folks gi£s de 
money. 

De raccoon he’s a cu’us man, 

He never walk twel dark, 

En nuthin’ never ’sturbs his mine, 
Twel he hear ole Bringer bark. 


De raccoon totes a bushy tail, 

De ’possum totes no ha’r, 

Mr. Rabbit, he come skippin’ by, 

He ain’t got none ter spar’. 

Monday mornin’ break er day, 

W’ite folks got me gwine, 

But Sat’dy night, w’en de sun goes down, 
Dat yaller gal’s in my mine. 

Fifteen poun’ er meat a week, 

W’isky fer ter sell, 

Oh, how can a young man stay at home, 
Dem gals dey look so well ? 


196 


HIS SONGS. 


Met a ’possum in de road— 

Brer ’Possum, whar you gwine ? 
I thank my stars, 1 bless my life, 
Pm a huntin’ fer de muscadine . 


VIII. 

THE BIG BETHEL CHURCH . 

De Big Bethel chu’ch! de Big Bethel chu’ch! 
Done put ole Satun behine um ; 

Ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu’ch, 

De Big Bethel chu’ch will fine um! 

Hit’s good ter be dere, en it’s sweet ter be dere, 
Wid de sisterin’ all aroun’ you— 

A shakin’ dem shackles er mussy en’ love 
Wharwid de Lord is boun’ you. 

Hit’s sweet ter be dere en lissen ter de hymes, 

En hear dem mo’ners a shoutin’— 

Dey done reach de place whar der ain’t no room 
Fer enny mo’ weepin’ en doubtin’. 

Hit’s good ter be dere w’en de sinners all jine 
Wid de brudderin in dere singin’, 

En it look like Gaberl gwine ter rack up en blow 
En set dem heav’m bells ter ringin’! 


THE BIG BETHEL CHURCH. 


197 


Oh, de Big Bethel chu’ch! de Big Bethel chu’ch, 
Done put ole Satun behine um; 

Ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu’ch 
De Big Bethel chu’ch will fine um ! 


IX. 


TIME GOES BY TURNS . 

Dak’s a pow’ful rassle ’twix de Good en de Bad, 
Eu de Bad’s got de all-under holt; 

En w’en de wuss come, she come i’on-clad, 

En you hatter hole yo’ bref fer de jolt. 

But des todes de las’ Good gits de knee-lock, 

En dey draps ter de groun ’—her flop ! 

Good had de inturn, en he stan’ like a rock, 

En he bleedzd fer ter be on top. 

De dry wedder breaks wid a big thunder-clap, 
Fer dey ain’t no drout’ w’at kin las’, 

But de seasons w’at whoops up de cotton crap, 
Likewise dey freshens up de grass. 

De rain fall so saf’ in de long dark night, 

Twel you hatter, hole yo’ han’ fer a sign, 

But de drizzle w’at sets de tater-slips right 
Is de makin’ er de May-pop vine. 


198 


HIS SONGS. 


In de mellerest groun’ de clay root’ll ketch 
En hole ter de tongue er de plow, 

En a pine-pole gate at de gyardin-patch 
Hever’ll keep out de ole brindle cow. 

One en all on us knows who’s a pullin’ at de bits 
Like de lead-mule dat g’ides by de rein, 

En yit, somehow er nudder, de bestest un us gits 
Mighty sick er de tuggin’ at de chain. 

Hump yo’se’f ter de load en fergit de distress, 

En dem w’at stan’s by ter scoff, 

Eer de harder de pullin’, de longer de res’, 

En de bigger de feed in de troff. 



A STORY OF THE WAR, 


















































































































































































E 


/ 



A STORY OF THE WAR. 

When Miss Theodosia Huntingdon, of Burlington, 
Vermont, concluded to come South in 1870, she was 
moved by three considerations. In the first place, her 
brother, John Huntingdon, had become a citizen of 
Georgia—having astonished his acquaintances by mar- 
rying a young lady, the male members of whose family 
had achieved considerable distinction in the Confed¬ 
erate army; in the second place, she was anxious to 
explore a region which she almost unconsciously pic¬ 
tured to herself as remote and semi-barbarous; and, in 

the third place, her friends had persuaded her that to 
15 (301) 













202 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


some extent she was an invalid. It was in vain that 
she argued with herself as to the propriety of under¬ 
taking the journey alone and unprotected, and she finally 
put an end to inward and outward doubts by informing 
herself and her friends, including John Huntingdon, 
her brother, who was practicing law in Atlanta, that 
she had decided to visit the South. 

When, therefore, on the 12th of October, 1870— 
the date is duly recorded in one of Miss Theodosia’s 
letters—she alighted from the cars in Atlanta, in the 
midst of a great crowd, she fully expected to find her 
brother waiting to receive her. The bells of several 
locomotives were ringing, a number of trains were 
moving in and out, and the porters and baggage-men 
were screaming and bawling to such an extent that for 
several moments Miss Huntingdon was considerably 
confused ; so much so that she paused in the hope that 
her brother would suddenly appear and rescue her 
from the smoke, and dust, and din. At that moment 
some one touched her on the arm, and she heard a 
strong, half-confident, half-apologetic voice exclaim: 

“ Ain’t dish yer Miss Doshy ? ” 

Turning, Miss Theodosia saw at her side a tall, 
gray-haired negro. Elaborating the incident afterward 
to her friends, she was pleased to say that the appear¬ 
ance of the old man was somewhat picturesque. He 
stood towering above her, his hat in one hand, a car¬ 
riage-whip in the other, and an expectant smile lighting 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


203 


up bis rugged face. She remembered a name her 
brother had often used in his letters, and, with a 
woman’s tact, she held out her hand, and said: 

“ Is this Uncle Remus ? ” 

“ Law, Miss Doshy ! how you know de ole nigger ? 
I know’d you by de faver; but how you know me ? ” 
And then, without waiting for a reply : “ Miss Sally, 
she sick in bed, en Mars John, he bleedzd ter go in de 
country, en dey tuck’n sont me. I know’d you de 
min nit I laid eyes on you. Time I seed you, I say ter 
myse’f, 4 1 lay dar’s Miss Doshy,’ en, sho nuff, dar 
you wuz. You ain’t gun up yo’ checks, is you? 
Kaze I’ll git de trunk sont up by de ’spress wag- 
gin.” 

The next moment Uncle Remus was elbowing his 
way unceremoniously through the crowd, and in a 
very short time, seated in the carriage driven by the 
old man, Miss Huntingdon was whirling through the 
streets of Atlanta in the direction of her brother’s 
home. She took advantage of the opportunity to study 
the old negro’s face closely, her natural curiosity con¬ 
siderably sharpened by a knowledge of the fact that 
Uncle Remus had played an important part in her 
brother’s history. The result of her observation must 
have been satisfactory, for presently she laughed, and 
said: 

“ Uncle Remus, you haven’t told me how you knew 
me in that'great crowd.” 


204 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


The old man chuckled, and gave the horses a gentle 
rap with the whip. 

“ Who ? Me! I know’d you by de faver. Dat 
boy er Mars Jolin’s is de ve’y spit en immij un you. 
Ida know’d you in Hew ’Leens, let ’lone down dar in 
de kyar-shed.” 

This was Miss Theodosia’s introduction to Uncle 
Remus. One Sunday afternoon, a few weeks after 
her arrival, the family were assembled in the piazza 
enjoying the mild weather. Mr. Huntingdon was 
reading a newspaper; his wife was crooning softly 
as she rocked the baby to sleep; and the little boy 
was endeavoring to show his Aunt Dosia the out¬ 
lines of Kennesaw Mountain through the purple 
haze that hung like a wonderfully fashioned cur¬ 
tain in the sky and almost obliterated the hori¬ 
zon. While they were thus engaged, Uncle Remus 
came around the corner of the house, talking to him¬ 
self. • 

“ De y er t0 ° la zy ter wuk,” he was saying, “ en dey 
specks hones’ fokes fer ter stan’ up en s’port um. I’m 
gwine down ter Putmon County wliar Mars Jeems is— 
dat’s w’at I’m agwine ter do.” 

“ Wha t’s the matter now, Uncle Remus ? ” inquired 
Mr. Huntingdon, folding up his newspaper. 

“ Huthin’ ’tall, Mars John, ’ceppin deze yer sun¬ 
shine niggers. Dey begs my terbacker, en borrys my 
tools, en steals my vittles, en hit’s done come ter dat 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


205 


pass dat I gotter pack up en go. I’m agwine down ter 
Putmon, dat’s w’at.” 

Uncle Remus was accustomed to make this threat 
several times a day, but upon this occasion it seemed to 
remind Mr. Huntingdon of something. 

“ Very well,” he said, “ I’ll come around and help 
you pack up, but before you go I want you to tell 
Sister here how you went to war and fought for the 
Union.—Remus was a famous warrior,” he continued, 
turning to Miss Theodosia; “he volunteered for one 
day, and commanded an army of one. You know the 
story, but you have never heard Remus’s version.” 

Uncle Remus shuffled around in an awkward, 
embarrassed way, scratched his head, and looked un¬ 
comfortable. 

“ Miss Doshy ain’t got no time fer ter set dar an 
year de ole nigger run on.” 

“Oh, yes, I have, Uncle Remus!” exclaimed the 
young lady ; “ plenty of time.” 

The upshot of it was that, after many ridiculous 
protests, Uncle Remus sat down on the steps, and pro¬ 
ceeded to tell his story of the war. Miss Theodosia 
listened with great interest, but throughout it all she 
observed—and she was painfully conscious of the fact, 
as she afterward admitted—that Uncle Remus spoke 
from the standpoint of a Southerner, and with the air of 
one who expected his hearers to thoroughly sympathize 
with him. 


200 A STORY OP THE WAR. 

“ Co’se,” said Uncle Remus, addressing himself to 
Miss Theodosia, “ you ain’t bin to Putmon, en you 
dunner whar de Brad Slaughter place en Harmony 
Grove is, but Mars John en Miss Sally, dey bin dar 
a time er two, en dey knows how de lan’ lays. Well, 
den, it ’uz right ’long in dere whar Mars Jeems lived, 
en whar he live now. When de war come ’long he 
wuz livin’ dere longer Ole Miss en Miss Sally. Ole 
Miss ’uz his ma, en Miss Sally dar ’uz his sister. De 
war come des like I tell you', en marters sorter rock 
along same like dey allers did. Hit didn’t strike me 
dat dey wuz enny war gwine on, en ef I hadn’t sorter 
miss de nabers, en seed fokes gwine outer de way fer 
ter ax de news, I’d a ’lowed ter myse’f dat de war wuz 
’way off ’mong some yuther country. But all dis time 
de fuss wuz gwine on, en Mars Jeems, he wuz des 
eatchin’ fer ter put in. Ole Miss en Miss Sally, dey 
tuck on so he didn’t git off de fus’ year, but bimeby 
news come down dat times wuz gittin putty hot, en 
Mars Jeems he got up, he did, en say he gotter go, 
en go he did. He got a overseer fer ter look atter 
de place, en he went en jined de army. En he ’uz a 
fighter, too, mon, Mars Jeems wuz. Many’s en many’s 
de time,” continued the old man, reflectively, “dat I 
hatter take’n bresh dat boy on accounter his ’buzin’ 
en beatin’ dem yuther boys. He went off dar fer ter 
en he fit. Ole Miss useter call me up Sunday 
en read w’at de papers say ’bout Mars Jeems, en it 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


207 


hope ’er up might’ly. I kin see ’er des like it ’uz 
yistiddy. 

“ 4 Remus,’ sez she, 4 dish yer’s w’at de papers say 
’bout my baby,’ en den she’d read out twel she couldn’t 
read fer cryin’. Hit went on dis way year in en year 
out, en dem wuz lonesome times, sho’s you bawn, Miss 
Doshy—lonesome times, sho. Hit got hotter en hotter 
in de war, en lonesomer en mo’ lonesomer at home, en 
bimeby ’long come de conscrip’ man, en he des ever- 
las’nly scoop up Mars Jeems’s overseer. W’en dis 
come ’bou*, ole Miss, she sont atter me en say, sez 
she: 

44 4 Remus, I ain’t got nobody fer ter look arter de 
place but you,’ sez she, en den I up’n say, sez I: 

44 4 Mistiss, you kin des ’pen’ on de ole nigger.’ 

44 1 wuz ole den, Miss Doshy—let ’lone w’at I is 
now; en you better b’leeve I bossed dem han’s. I had 
dem niggers up en in de fiel’ long ’fo’ day, en de way 
dey did wuk wuz a caution. Ef dey didn’t earnt der 
vittles dat season den I ain’t name Remus. But dey 
wuz tuk keer un. Dey had plenty er cloze en plenty 
er grub, en dey wuz de fattes’ niggers in de settlement. 

44 Bimeby one day, Ole Miss, she call me up en say 
de Yankees done gone en tuck Atlanty—dish yer ve’y 
town ; den present’y I year dey wuz a marcliin’ on 
down todes Putmon, en, lo en beholes! one day, de 
fus news I know’d, Mars Jeems he rid up wid a whole 
gang er men. He des stop long nuff fer ter change 


208 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


bosses en snatch a mouffle er sump’n’ ter eat, but ’fo’ 
he rid off, he call me up en say, sez he: 

“ ‘ Daddy ’—all Ole Miss’s chill uns call me daddy 

‘ Daddy,’ he say, 4 ’pears like dere’s gwineter be 
mighty rough times ’roun’ yer. De Yankees, dey er 
done got ter Madison en Mounticellar, en ’twon’t be 
many days ’fo’ dey er down yer. ’Tain’t likely dey’ll 
pester mother ner sister; but, daddy, ef de wus come 
ter de wus, I speck you ter take keer un um,’ sezee. 

“ Den I say, sez I: ‘ How long you bin knowin’ 
me, Mars Jeems ? ’ sez I. 

“ 4 Sence I wuz a baby,’ sezee. 

“‘Well, den, Mars Jeems,’ sez I, ‘you know’d 
’twa’nt no use fer ter ax me ter take keer Ole Miss en 
Miss Sally.’ 

“Den he tuck’n squoze my han’ en jump on de 
filly I bin savin’ fer ’im, en rid off. One time he tu’n 
’roun’ en look like he wanter say sump’n’, but he des 
waf’ his han’—so’—en gallop on. I know’d den dat 
trouble wuz brewin’. Nigger dat knows he’s gwineter 
git thumped kin sorter fix hisse’f, en I tuck’n fix up 
like de war wuz gwineter come right in at de front 
gate. I tuck’n got all de cattle en hosses tergedder en 
diiv um ter de fo’-mile place, en I tuck all de corn en 
fodder en w’eat, en put um in a crib out dar in de 
woods; en I bilt me a pen in de swamp, en dar I put 
de hogs. Den, w’en I fix all dis, I put on my Sunday 
S cloze en groun’ my axe. Two whole days I groun’ dat 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


209 


axe. De grinestone wuz in sight er de gate en close 
ter de big ’ouse, en dar I tuck my stan’. 

“ Bimeby one day, yer cou;ie de Yankees. Two 
un um come fus, en den de whole face er de yeath 
swawm’d wid um. De fus glimpse I kotch un um, 
I tuck my axe en march inter Ole Miss settin’-room. 
She done had de sidebode move in dar, en I wish I 
may drap ef ’twuzn’t fa’rly blazin’ wid silver—silver 
cups en silver sassers, silver plates en silver dishes, 
silver mugs en silver pitchers. Look like ter me dey 
wuz fixin’ fer a weddin’. Dar sot Ole Miss des ez 
prim en ez proud ez ef she own de whole county. 
Dis kinder hope me up, kaze I done seed Ole Miss 
look dat away once befo’ w’en de overseer struck me 
in de face wid a w’ip. I sot down by de fier wid my 
axe ’tween my knees. Dar we sot w’iles de Yankees 
ransack de place. Miss Sally, dar, she got sorter rest¬ 
less, but Ole Miss didn’t skasely bat ’er eyes. Bimeby, 
we hear steps on de peazzer, en yer come a couple 
er young fellers wid strops on der shoulders, en der 
sodes a draggin’ on de flo’, en der spurrers a rattlin’. 
I won’t say I wuz skeer’d,” said Uncle Remus, as 
though endeavoring to recall something he failed to 
remember, “ I won’t say I wuz skeer’d, kaze I wuz- 
ent; but I wuz took’n wid a mighty funny feelin’ 
in de naberhood er de gizzard. Dey wuz mighty 
perlite, dem young chaps wuz; but Ole Miss, she 
never tu’n ’er head, en Miss Sally, she look straight 


210 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


at de fier. Bimeby one un urn see me, en he say, 
sezee: 

“ ‘ Hello, ole man, w’at yon doin’ in yer ? ’ sezee. 

“‘Well, boss,’ sez I, ‘I bin cuttin’ some wood fer 
Ole Miss, en I des stop fer ter worn my han’s a little,’ 
sez I. 

“ ‘ Hit is cole, dat’s a fack,’ sezee. 

“ Wid dat I got up en tuck my stan’ behime Ole 
Miss en Miss Sally, en de man w’at speak, he went up 
en worn his han’s. Fus thing you know, he raise up 
sudden, en say, sezee: 

“ ‘ W’at dat on yo’ axe ? ’ 

“ ‘ Dat’s de fier shinin’ on it,’ sez I. 

“ ‘ Hit look like blood,’ sezee, en den he laft. 

“ But, bless yo’ soul, dat man wouldn’t never laft 
dat day ef he’d know’d de wukkins er Kemus’s mine. 
But dey didn’t bodder nobody ner tech nuthin’, en 
bimeby dey put out. Well, de Yankees, dey kep’ 
passin’ all de mawnin’ en it look like ter me dey wuz 
a string un urn ten mile long. Den dey commence 
gittin’ thinner en thinner, en den atter w’ile we hear 
skummishin’ in de naberhood er Armer’s fe’y, en Ole 
Miss ’low how dat wuz Wheeler’s men makin’ persoot. 
Mars Jeems wuz wid deni Wheeler fellers, en I know’d 
ef dey wuz dat close I wa’n’t doin’ no good settin’ 
’roun’ de house toas’n my shins at de fier, so I des 
tuck Mars Jeems’s rifle fum behime de do’ en put out 
ter look atter my stock. 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


211 


“ Seem like I ain’t never see no raw day like dat, 
needer befo’ ner sence. Dey wa’n’t no rain, but de 
wet des sifted down; mighty raw day. De leaves on 
de groun’ ’uz so wet dey don’t make no fuss, en I got 
in de woods, en w’enever I year de Yankees gwine by, 
I des stop in my tracks en let um pass. I wuz stan’in’ 
dat away in de aidge er de woods lookin’ out ’cross a 
clearin’, w’en —piff !—out come a little bunch er blue 
smoke fum de top er wunner dem big lonesome-lookin’ 
pines, en den —-jpow ! 

“ Sez I ter myse’f, sez I: ‘ Honey, youer right on 
my route, en I’ll des see w’at kinder bird you got 
roostin’ in you,’ en w’iles I wuz a lookin’ out bus’ de 
smoke— piff! en den— bang! Wid dat I des drapt 
back inter de woods, en sorted skeerted ’roun’ so’s ter 
git de tree ’twix’ me en de road. I slid up putty close, 
en wadder you speck I see ? Des ez sho’s youer settin’ 
dar lissenin’ dey wuz a live Yankee up dar in dat tree, 
en he wuz a loadin’ en a shootin’ at de boys dez ez cool 
es a cowcumber in de jew, en he had his hoss hitch out 
in de bushes, kaze I year de creetur tromplin’ ’roun’. 
He had a spy-glass up dar, en w’iles I wuz a watchin’ 
un ’im, he raise ’er up en look thoo ’er, en den he lay 
’er down en fix his gun fer ter shoot. I had good eyes 
in dem days, ef I ain’t got um now, en ’way up de big 
road I see Mars Jeems a cornin’. Hit wuz too fur fer 
ter see his face, but I know’d ’im by de filly w’at I 
raise fer ’im, en she wuz a prancin’ like a school-gal. 


212 


A STORY OF THE WAR. 


I know’d dat man wuz gwineter shoot Mars Jeems ef 
he could, en dat wuz mo’n I could stan’. Manys en 
manys de time dat I nuss dat boy, en hilt ’im in dese 
arms, en toted ’im on dis back, en w’en I see dat 
Yankee lay dat gun ’cross a lim’ en take aim at Mars 
Jeems I up wid my ole rifle, en shet my eyes en let 
de man have all she had.” 

“ Do you mean to say,” exclaimed Miss Theodosia, 
indignantly, “ that you shot the Union soldier, when 
you knew he was fighting for your freedom ? ” 

“Co’se, I know all about dat,” responded Uncle 
Remus, “ en it sorter made cole chills run up my 
back; but w’en I see dat man take aim, en Mars 
Jeems gwine home ter Ole Miss en Miss Sally, I des 
disremembered all ’bout freedom en lammed aloose. 
En den atter dat, me en Miss Sally tuck en nuss de 
man right straight along. He los’ one arm in dat tree 
bizness, but me en Miss Sally we nuss ’im en we nuss 
’im twel he done got well. Des ’bout dat time I quit 
nuss’n ’im, but Miss Sally she kep’ on. She kep’ on,” 
continued Uncle Remus, pointing to Mr. Huntingdon, 
“en now dar he is.”' 

“ But you cost him an arm,” exclaimed Miss Theo> 
dosia. 

“ I gin ’im dem,” said Uncle Remus, pointing to 
Mrs. Huntingdon, “en I gin ’im deze’’—holding up 
his own brawny arms. “ En ef dem ain’t nuff fer 
enny man den I done los’ de way.” 


HIS SAYINGS 



I. 


JEEMS ROBERSON'S LAST ILLNESS . 


A J onesboro negro, while waiting for the train to 
go out, met up with Uncle Eemus. After the usual 
“ time of day ” had been passed between the two, the 
former inquired about an acquaintance. 

“ How’s Jeems Rober’son ? ” he asked. 

“ Ain’t you year ’bout Jim ? ” asked Uncle Remus. 
“ Dat I ain’t,” responded the 
other; “ I ain’t hear talk er Jem 
sence he cut loose fum de 
chain-gang. Dat w’at make 
I ax. He ain’t down wid 
de biliousness, is he ? ” 

“Not dat I knows un,” 
responded Uncle Remus, 
gravely. “He ain’t sick, 
an’ he ain’t bin sick. He des 
tuck’n say he wuz gwineter ride' 
dat ar roan mule er Mars John’s 
de udder Sunday, an’ de mule, 

she up’n do like she got nudder 
( 215 ) 



216 


HIS SAYINGS. 


ingagement. I done bin fool wid dat mule befo’, an’ 
I tuck’n tole Jim dat he better not git tangle up wid 
’er; but Jim, he up’n ’low dat N he wuz a hoss-doctor, 
an’ wid dat he ax me fer a chaw terbarker, en den 
he got de bridle, en tuck’n kotch de mule en got on 
her— Well,” continued Uncle Remus, looking uneasily 
around, “ I speck you better go git yo’ ticket. Dey 
tells me dish yer train goes a callyhootin’.” 

“ Hole on dar, Uncle Remus ; you ain’t tell me 
’bout Jim,” exclaimed the Jonesboro negro. 

“I done tell you all I knows, chile. Jim, he tuck’n 
light on de mule, an’ de mule she up’n hump ’erse’f, an 
den dey wuz a skuffle, an’ w’en de dus’ blow ’way, dar 
lay de nigger on de groun’, an’ de mule she stood 
eatin’ at de troff wid wunner Jim’s gallusses wrop 
’roun’ her beliime-leg. Den atterwuds, de ker’ner, he 
come ’roun’, an’ he tuck’n gin it out dat Jim died 
sorter accidental like. Hit’s des like I tell you: de 
nigger wern’t sick a minnit. So long! Bimeby you 
won’t ketch yo’ train. I got ter be knockin’ long.” 


ii. 


UNCLE REMUS'S CHURCH EXPERIENCE. 

The deacon of a colored church met Uncle Remus 
recently, and, after some uninteresting remarks about 
the weather, asked: 


UNCLE REMUS’S CHURCH EXPERIENCE. 217 

“ How dis you don’t come down ter chu’cli no mo’, 
Brer Bemus ? We er bin er havin’ some mighty 
’freshen’ times lately.” 

“ Hit’s bin a long time sence I bin down dar, Brer 
Bastus, an’ hit’ll be longer. I done got my dose.” 

“You ain’t done gone an’ unjined, is you, Brer 
Bemus ? ” 

“Hot zackly, Brer Bastus. I des tuck’n draw’d 
out. De members ’uz a blame sight too mutuel fer ter 
6uit my doctrines.” 

“ How wuz dat, Brer Bemus ? ” 

“Well, I tell you, Brer Bastus. W’en I went ter 
dat chu’ch, I went des ez umbill ez de nex’ one. I went 
dar fer ter sing, an’ fer ter pray, an’ fer ter wushup, an’ 
I mos’ giner’lly allers had a stray shinplarster w’ich de 
ole ’oman say she want sont out dar ter dem cullud 
fokes ’cross de water. Hit went on dis way twel 
bimeby, one day, de fus news I know’d der was a row 
got up in de amen cornder. Brer Dick, he ’nounced 
dat dey wern’t nuff money in de box; an’ Brer Sim 
said if dey wern’t he speck Brer Dick know’d whar it 
disappeared ter ; an’ den Brer Dick ’low’d dat he won’t 
stan’ no ’probusness, an’ wid dat he haul off an’ tuck 
Brer Sim under de jaw —leer Wap! —an’ den dey 
clinched an’ drapped on de flo’ an’ fout under de 
benches an’ ’mong de wimmen. 

“ ’Bout dat time Sis Tempy, she lipt up in de a’r, 

an’ sing out dat she done gone an’ tromple on de Ole 
16 


218 


HIS SAYINGS. 


Boy, an’ she kep’ on lippin’ up an’ slingin’ out ’er 
han’s twel bimeby— blip !—she tuck Sis Becky in de 
mouf, an’ den Sis Becky riz 
an’ fetch a grab at Sis Tempy, 
an’ I ’clar’ ter grashus ef 
didn’t ’pear ter me like she 
got a poun’ er wool. Atter 
dat de revivin’ sorter het up 
like. Bofe un um had kin 

’mong de mo’ners, an’ ef 

you ever see skufflin’ an’ 

scramblin’ hit wuz den an’ 
dar. Brer Jeems Henry, 
he mounted Brer Plato an’ 
rid ’im over de railin’, an’ den de preacher he start 
down fum de pulpit, an’ des ez he wuz skippin’ onter 
de flatform a hyme-book kotch ’im in de bur er de 
year, an’ I be bless ef it didn’t soun’ like a bung- 
shell’d busted. Des den, Brer Jesse, he riz up in his 

seat, sorter keerless like, an’ went down inter his 

britches atter his razer, an’ right den I know’d sho* 
nuff trubble wuz begun. Sis Dilsey, she seed it herse’f, 
an’ she tuck’n let off wunner dem hallyluyah hollers, 
an’ den I disremember w’at come ter pass. 

“ I’ m gittin’ sorter ole, Brer Rastus, an’ it seem like 
de dus’ sorter shet out de pannyrammer. Fuddermo’, 
my lim’s got ter akin, mo’ speshully w’en I year Brer 
Sim an’ Brer Dick a snortin’ and a skufflin under de 



UNCLE REMUS’S CHURCH EXPERIENCE. 219 


benches like ez dey wuz sorter makin’ der way ter my 
pew. So I kinder hump myse’f an’ scramble out, and 
de fus man w’at I seed was a p’leeceman, an’ he had a 
nigger ’rested, an’ de fergiven name er dat nigger wuz 
Remus.” 

“ He didn’t ’res’ you, did he, Brer Remus ? ” 

“ Hit’s des like I tell you, Brer Rastus, an’ I hatter 
git Mars John fer to go inter my bonVfer me. Hit 
ain’t no use fer ter sing out cliu’ch ter me, Brer Rastus. 
I done bin an’ got my dose. W’en I goes ter war, I 
wan ter know w’at I’m a doin’. I don’t wan ter git 
hemmed up ’mong no wimmen and preachers. I wants 
elbow-room, an’ I’m bleedzd ter have it. Des gimme 
elbow-room.” 

“ But, Brer Remus, you ain’t—” 

“ I mout drap in, Brer Rastus, an’ den ag’in I 
moutn’t, but w’en you duz see me santer in de do’, wid 
my specs on, youk’n des say to de congergashun, sorter 
familious like, 4 Yer come ole man Remus wid his 
hoss-pistol, an’ ef dar’s much uv a skuffle ’roun’ yer dis 
evenin’ youer gwineter year fum ’im.’ Dat’s me, an’ 
dat’s what you kin tell um. So long! Member me to 
Sis Abby.” 


220 


HIS SAYINGS. 


III. 

UNCLE REMUS AND THE SA VANNAH DARKEY. 

The notable difference existing between the negroes 
in the interior of the cotton States and those on the 
seaboard—a difference that extends to habits and opin¬ 
ions as well as to dialect—has given rise to certain 
ineradicable prejudices which are quick to display 
themselves whenever an opportunity offers. These 
prejudices were forcibly, as well as ludicrously, illus¬ 
trated in Atlanta recently. A gentleman from Savan¬ 
nah had been spending the summer in the mountains 
of north Georgia, and found it convenient to take 
along a body-servant. This body-servant was a very 
fine specimen of the average coast negro—sleek, well- 
conditioned, and consequential—disposed to regard with 
undisguised contempt everything and everybody not 
indigenous to the rice-growing region—and he paraded 
around the streets with quite a curious and critical air. 
Espying Uncle Remus languidly sunning himself on a 
corner, the Savannah darkey approached. 

“ Mornin’, sah.” 

“ rm sorter up an’ about,” responded Uncle Remus, 
carelessly and calmly. “ How is you stannin’ it ? ” 

“ Tanky you, my helt mos’ so-so. He mo’ hot dun 
in de mountain. Seem so lak man mus’ git need* 


* Underneath. 




UNCLE KEMUS AND THE SAVANNAH DAEKEY. 221 

de shade. I enty fer see no rice - bud in dis 
pa’ts.” 

“ In dis w ’ ich ? ” inquired Uncle Remus, with a 
sudden affectation of interest. 

u In dis pa’ts. In dis country. 

Da plenty in Sawanny.” 

“ Plenty whar ? ” 

u Da plenty in Sawanny. I enty 
fer see no crab an’ no oscher; 
en swimp, he no stay ’roun’. 

I lak some rice-bud now.” 

“Youer talkin’ ’bout deze 
yer sparrers, w’ich dey er all ^ ^ 

head, en ’lev’m un makes one 
mouffle,* I speck,” suggested Uncle Remus. “Well, 
dey er yer,” he continued, “ but dis ain’t no climate 
whar de rice-birds flies inter yo’ pockets en gits out 
de money an’ makes de change derse’f; an’ de isters 
don’t shuck off der shells en run over you on de 
street, an’ no mo’ duz de s’imp hull derse’f an’ drap 
in yo’ mouf. But dey er yer, dough. De scads ’ll 
fetch um.” 

“ Him po’ country fer true,” commented the Sa¬ 
vannah negro; “ he no like Sawanny. Down da, we 
set need de shade an’ eaty de rice-bud, an’ de crab, an’ 
de swimp tree time de day; an’ de buckra man drinky 



* Mouthful. 




222 


HIS SAYINGS. 


him wine, an’ smoky him seegyar all troo de night. 
Plenty fer eat an’ not much fer wuk.” 

“ Hit’s mighty nice, I speck,” responded Uncle 
Remus, gravely. “ De nigger dat ain’t hope up ’longer 
high feedin’ ain’t got no grip. But up yer whar fokes 
is gotter scramble ’roun’ an’ make der own livin’, de 
vittles wat’s kumerlated widout enny sweatin’ mos’ 
allers gener’lly b’longs ter some yuther man by rights. 
One hoe-cake an’ a rasher er middlin’ meat las’s me 
fum Sunday ter Sunday, an’ I’m in a mighty big streak 
er luck w’en I gits dat.” 

The Savannah negro here gave utterance to a loud, 
contemptuous laugh, and began to fumble somewhat 
ostentatiously with a big brass watch-chain. 

‘ But I speck I struck up wid a payin’ job las’ 
Chuseday,” continued Uncle Remus, in a hopeful tone. 

“ Wey you gwan do ? ” 

“ Oh, I’m a waitin’ on a culled gemmun fum Sa¬ 
vannah—wunner deze yer high livers you bin tellin’ 
’bout.” 

“ How dat ? ” 

“ 1 loant ’ im two dollars,” responded Uncle Remus, 
grimly, an I’m a waitin’ on ’im fer de money. Hit’s 
wunner deze yer jobs w’at las’s a long time.” 

The Savannah negro went off after his rice-birds, 
while Uncle Remus leaned up against the wall and 
laughed until he was in imminent danger of falling 
down from sheer exhaustion. 


TURNIP SALID AS A TEXT. 


223 


IY. 


TURNIP SALAD AS A TEXT. 

As Uncle Remus was going down the street re¬ 
cently he was accosted by several acquaintances. 

“ Heyo ! ” said one, “ here comes Unde Remus. 
He look like he gwine fer ter set up a 
bo’din-house.” 

Several others bantered the old 
man, but he appeared to be 
in a good humor. He was 
carrying a huge basket of 
vegetables. 

“ How many er you boys,” 
said he, as he put his basket down, 

“ is done a han’s turn dis day ? 

En yit de week’s done commence. 

I year talk er niggers dat’s got 
money in de bank, but I lay hit 
ain’t none er you fellers. Whar you 
speck you gwineter git yo’ dinner, en how you speck 
you gwineter git ’long ? ” 

“ Oh, we sorter knocks ’roun’ an’ picks up a livin’,” 
responded one. 

“ Dat’s w’at make I say w’at I duz,” said Uncle 
Remus. “ Fokes go ’bout in de day-time an’ makes a 
livin’, an’ you come ’long w’en dey er res’in’ der bones 



224 


HIS SAYINGS. 


an’ picks it up. I ain’t no han’ at figgers, but I lay I 
k’n count up right yer in de san’ en number up how 
menny days hit’ll be ’fo’ you’er cuppled on ter de 
chain-gang.” 

“ De ole man’s holler’n now 6ho’,” said one of the 
listeners, gazing with admiration on the venerable old 
darkey. 

u I ain’t takin’ no chances ’bout vittles. Hit’s 
proned inter me fum de fus dat I got ter eat, en I 
knows dat I got fer ter grub fer w’at I gits. Hit’s 
agin de mor’l law fer niggers fer ter eat w’en dey 
don’t wuk, an’ w’en you see um ’pariently fattenin’ on 
a’r, you k’n des bet dat ruinashun’s gwine on some’rs. 
I got mustard, en poke salid, en lam’s quarter in dat 
baskit, en me en my ole ’oman gwineter sample it. Ef 
enny you boys git a invite you come, but ef you don’t 
you better stay ’way. I gotter mu skit out dar w’at’s 
used ter persidin’ ’roun’ whar dey’s a cripple nigger. 
Don’t you fergit dat off’n yo’ mine.” 


v. 

A CONFESSION . 

“W’at’s dis yer I see, great big niggers gwine 
’lopin’ ’roun’ town wid cakes ’n pies fer ter sell?” 
asked Uncle Kemus recently, in his most scornful tone. 


A CONFESSION. 


225 


“ That’s what they are doing,” responded a young 
man ; “ that’s the way they make a living.” 

“ Dat w’at make I say w’at I duz—dat w’at keep 
me grum’lin’ w’en I goes in cullud fokes s’ciety. Some 
niggers ain’t gwine ter wuk nohow, an’ hit’s dingin’ 
’way time fer ter set enny chain-gang traps fer ter 
ketch um.” 

“Well, now, here ! ” exclaimed the young man, in a 
dramatic tone, “ what are you giving us now ? Isn’t it 
just as honest and just as regular to sell pies as it is to 
do any other kind of work ? ” 

“ ’Tain’t dat, boss,” said the old man, seeing that he 
was about to be cornered; “ ’tain’t dat. Hit’s de 
nas’ness un it w’at gits me.” 

“ Oh, get out! ” 

“ Dat’s me, boss, up an’ down. Ef dere’s ruinashun 
ennywhar in de known wurril, she goes in de comp’ny 
uv a hongry nigger w’at’s a totin’ 
pies ’roun’. Sometimes w’en I git 
kotch wid emptiness in de pit er 
de stummuck, an’ git ter fairly 
honin’ arter sump’n’ w’at got 
substance in it, den hit 
look like unto me dat I 
kin stan’ flat-footed an’ 
make more cle’r money 
eatin’ pies dan I could if I 
wuz ter sell de las’ one 



226 


HIS SAYINGS. 


’twixt dis an’ Chrismus. An’ de nigger w’at k’n 
trapes ’round wid pies and not git in no alley-way an’ 
sample um, den I’m bleedzd ter say dat nigger out- 
niggers me an’ my fambly. So dar now ! ” 


VI. 

UNCLE REMUS WITH THE TOOTHACHE. 

When Uncle Remus put in an appearance one 
morning recently, his friends knew he' had been in 
trouble. He had a red cotton handkerchief tied under 
his chin, and the genial humor that usually makes his 
aged face its dwelling-place had given way to an ex¬ 
pression of grim melancholy. The young men about 
the office were inclined to chaff him, but his look of 
sullen resignation remained unchanged. 

“ What revival did you attend last night ? ” inquired 
one. 

“ What was the color of the mule that did the ham¬ 
mering ? ” asked another. 

“ I always told the old man that a suburban chicken- 
coop would fall on him,” remarked some one. 

“ A strange pig has been squealing in his ear,” sug* 
gested some one else. 

But Uncle Remus remained impassive. He seemed 
to have lost all interest in what was going on around 
him, and he sighed heavily as he seated himself on the 


UNCLE REMUS WITH THE TOOTHACHE. 227 

edge of the trash-box in front of the office. Finally 
some one asked, in a sympathetic tone : 

“What is the matter, old man? You look like 
you’d been through the mill.” 

“ Now you’er knockin’ at de back do’ sho’. Ef 
I ain’t bin thoo de mill 
sence day’ fo’ yistiddy, 
den dey ain’t no mills 
in de lan’. Ef 
wunner deze yer //A 
scurshun trains had 
runned over me I 
couldn’t er bin 
wuss off. I bin 
trompin’ ’roun’ in 
de low-groun’s now 
gwine on seventy-fi’ 
year, but I ain’t see no 
sich times ez dat w’at I done spe’unst now. Boss, 
is enny er you all ever rastled wid de toofache ? ” 

“ Oh, hundreds of times ! The toothache isn’t any¬ 
thing.” 

“ Den you des played ’roun’ de aidges. You ain’t 
had de kine w’at kotch me on de under jaw. You 
mout a had a gum-bile, but you ain’t bin boddered wid 
de toofache. I wuz settin’ up talkin’ wid my ole 
’oman, kinder puzzlin’ ’roun’ fer ter see whar de nex’ 
meal’s vittles wuz a gwineter cum fum, an’ I feel a 





228 


HIS SAYINGS. 


little ache sorter crawlin’ ’long on my jaw-bone, kinder 
feelin’ his way. But de ache don’t stay long. He 
sorter hankered ’roun’ like, en den crope back wliar he 
come fum. Bimeby I feel ’im cornin’ agin, an’ dis time 
hit look like he come up closer—kinder skummishin’ 
roun fer ter see how de lan’ lay. Hen he went off. 
Present’y I feel ’im cornin’, an’ dis time hit look like 
he kyar’d de news unto Mary, fer hit feel like der wuz 
anudder wun wid ’im. Hey crep’ up an’ crep’ ’roun’, 
an’ den dey crope off. Bimeby dey come back, an’ dis 
time dey come like dey wuzent ’fear’d er de s’roundin’s, 
fer dey trot right up unto de toof, sorter zamine it like, 
an den trot all roun’ it, like deze yer circuous bosses. 
I sot dar mighty ca’m, but I spected dat sump’n’ wuz 
gwine ter happ’n.” 

And it happened, did it ? ” asked some one in the 
group surrounding the old man. 

“ Boss > don,t y° u fergit it,” responded Uncle Remus, 
fervidly. W en dem aches gallop back dey galloped 
fer ter stay, an’ dey wuz so mixed up dat I couldn’t tell 
one fum de udder. All night long dey racked an’ dey 
galloped, an’ w’en dey got tired er rackin’ an’ gallopin’, 
dey all close in on de ole toof an’ thumped it an’ gouged 
at it twel it ’peared unto me dat dey had got de jaw¬ 
bone loosened up, an’ wuz tryin’ fer ter fetch it up thoo 
de top er my head an’ out at der back er my neck. 
An’ dey got wuss nex’ day. Mars John, he seed I wuz 
’stracted, an’ he tole me fer ter go roun’ yere an’ git 


THE PHONOGRAPH. 


229 


sump’n’ put on it, an’ de drug man he ’lowed dat I bet¬ 
ter have ’er draw’d, an’ his wuds wuzent more’n cole 
fo wunner deze yer watcliyoumaycollums—wunner 
deze dentis’ mens—had retched fer it wid a pa’r er 
tongs w’at don’t tu’n loose w’en dey ketches a holt. 
Leas’ways dey didn’t wid me. You oughter seed dat 
toof, boss. Hit wuz wunner deze yer fo’-prong fellers. 
Ef she’d a grow’d wrong eend out’ard, I’d a bin a bad 
nigger long arter I jin’d de chu’ch. You year’d my 
ho’n! ” 


VII. 

THE PHONOGRAPH. 

“ Unc Remus,” asked a tall, awkward-looking negro, 
who was one of a crowd surrounding the old man, 
u w ’at’s dish ’ere w’at dey calls de fonygraf—dish yer 
inst’ument w’at kin holler ’roun’ like little chillun in de 
back yard ? ” 

“ I ain’t seed urn,” said Uncle Remus, feeling in his 
pocket for a fresh chew of tobacco. “ I ain’t seed um, 
but I year talk un um. Miss Sally wuz a readin’ in de 
papers las’ Chuseday, an’ she say dat’s it’s a mighty big 
watchyoumaycollum.” 

“ A mighty big w’ich ? ” asked one of the crowd. 

“ A mighty big w’atzisname,” answered Uncle Re¬ 
mus, cautiously. “ I wuzent up dar close to whar Miss 


230 


HIS SAYINGS. 



Sarah wuz a readin’, but I kinder geddered in dat it 
wuz one er deze ’ere w’atzisnames w’at you hollers 
inter one year an’ it comes 
out er de udder. Hit’s 
mighty funny unter me 
how dese fokes kin go 
an’ prognosticate der 
eckoes inter one er 
deze yer i’on boxes, 
an’ dar hit’ll stay on 
twel de man comes 
’long an’ tu’ns de handle an’ 
let’s de fuss come pilin’ out. Bimeby dey’ll git ter 
makin’ sho’ nuff fokes, an’ den dere’ll be a racket 
’roun’ here. Dey tells me dat it goes off like one er 
deze yer torpedoes.” 

“You year dat, don’t you?” said one or two of 
the younger negroes. 

“ Dat’s w’at dey tells me,” continued IJncle Remus. 
“Dat’s w’at dey sez. Hit’s one er deze yer kinder 
w’atzisnames w’at sasses back w’en you hollers at it.” 

“ W’at dey fix um fer, den ? ” asked one of the 
practical negroes. 

“ Dat’s w’at I wanter know,” said Uncle Remus, 
contemplatively. “But dat’s w’at Miss Sally wuz a 
readin’ in de paper. All you gotter do is ter holler at 
de box, an’ dar’s yo’ remarks. Dey goes in, an’ dar 
dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you shakes 


RACE IMPROVEMENT. 


231 


de box, an’ den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer 
fishes w’at you git fum Savannah, an’ you ain’t got 
time fer ter look at dere gills, nudder.” 


VIII. 

RACE IMPROVEMENT. 

“Dere’s a kind er limberness 'bout niggers dese 
days dat’s mighty cu’us,” remarked Uncle Remus yes¬ 
terday, as he deposited a pitcher of fresh water upon 
the exchange table. “ I notisses it in de alley-ways an’ 
on de street-cornders. Dey er rackin’ up, mon, deze 
yer cullud fokes is.” 

“ What are you trying to give us now ? ” inquired 
one of the young men, in a bilious tone. 

“The old man’s mind is wandering,” said the 
society editor, smoothing the wrinkles out of his 
lavender kids. 

Uncle Remus laughed. “ I speck I is a gittin’ mo 
frailer dan I wuz ’fo’ de fahinin days wuz over, but I 
sees wid my eyes an’ I years wid my year, same ez 
enny er dese yer young bucks w’at goes a gallopin’ 
’roun’ huntin’ up devilment, an’ w’en I sees de limber¬ 
ness er dese yer cullud people, an’ w’en I sees how dey 
er dancin’ up, den I gits sorter hopeful. Dey er kinder 
ketchin’ up wid me.” 

“ How is that ? ” 


232 


HIS SAYINGS. 


“Oh, dey er moving” responded Uncle Remus. 
“ Dey er sorter cornin’ ’roun’. Dey er gittin’ so dey 
b’leeve dat dey ain’t no better dan de 
w’ite fokes. W’en freedom come 
out de niggers sorter got dere 
humps up, an’ dey staid dat way, 
twel bimeby dey begun fer ter git 
hongry, an’ den dey begun fer ter 
drap inter line right smartually ; an’ 
now,” continued the old man, em¬ 
phatically, “ dey er des ez palaver- 
ous ez dey wuz befo’ de war. Dey 
er gittin’ on solid groun’, mon.” 

“You think they are improving, 
then?” 

“Youer chawin’ guv’nment now, boss. You slap 
de law onter a nigger a time er two, an’ larn ’im dat 
he’s got fer to look atter his own rashuns an’ keep 
out’n udder fokes’s chick’n-coops, an’ sorter coax ’im 
inter de idee dat he’s got ter feed ’is own chilluns, an’ 
I be blessed ef you ain’t got ’im on risin’ groun’. An’, 
mo’n dat, w’en he gits holt er de fack dat a nigger k’n 
have yaller fever same ez w’ite folks, you done got 
’im on de mo’ners’ bench, an’ den ef you come down 
strong on de p’int dat he oughter stan’ fas’ by de 
fokes w’at hope him w’en he w r uz in trouble de job’s 
done. W’en you does dat, ef you ain’t got yo’ han’s 
on a new-made nigger, den my name ain’t Remus, 






IN THE ROLE OF A TARTAR. 233 

an 1 ef dat name’s bin changed I ain’t seen her abber- 
tized.” 


IN THE RdLE OF A TARTAR. 

A Charleston negro who was in Atlanta on the 
Fourth of July made a mistake. He saw Uncle Remus 
edging his way through the crowd, and thought he 
knew him. ' 

“ Howdy, Daddy Ben ? ” the stranger exclaimed. 
“ I tink I nubber see you no mo’. Wey you gwan? 
He hot fer true, ain’t he ? ” 

“ Daddy who ? ” asked Uncle Remus, straightening 
himself up with dignitj. “ W’ich ? ” 

“ I know you in Charl’son, an’ den in Sewanny. I 
6pec I dun grow away from ’membrance.” 

“You knowed me in Charlstun, and den in Sa- 
tomny ? ” 

“ He been long time, ain’t he, Daddy Ben ? ” 

“ Dat’s w’at’s a pesterin’ un me. How much you 
reckon you know’d me ? ” 

“He good while pas’; when I wer’ pickaninny. 
He long time ago. Wey you gwan, Daddy Ben ? ” 

“ W’at does you season your recollection wid fer 
ter make it hole on so ? ” inquired the old man. 

“ I dunno. He stick hese’f. I see you cornin’ ’long 

’n I say ‘ Dey Daddy Ben.’ I tink I see you no mo’, 
17 


234 


HIS SAYINGS. 


an’ I shaky yon'by de han’. Wey you gwan ? Dey no 
place yer wey we git wine ? ” 

Uncle Remus stared at the strange darkey curiously 
for a moment, and then he seized him by the arm. 

“Come yer, son, whar dey ain’t no folks an’ 
lemme drap some Jawjy ’intment in dem years er yone. 

Youer mighty fur 
ways fum home, 
an’ you wanter be 
a lookin’ out fer 
yo’se’f. Fus 
and fo’mus, 
youer thump¬ 
in’ de wrong 
watermillion. 
Youer w’isslin’ 
up de wrong 
chube. I ain’t tromped roun’ de country much. I 
ain’t bin to Charlstun an’ needer is I tuck in Savanny; 
but you couldn’t rig up no game on me dat I wouldn’t 
tumble on to it de minit I laid my eyeballs on you. 
W’en hit come ter dat I’m ole man Tumbler, fum 
Tumblersville—I is dat. Hit takes one er deze yer 
full-blooded w’ite men fur ter trap my jedgment. But 
w’en a nigger comes a jabberin’ ’roun’ like he got a 
mouf full er rice straw, he ain’t got no mo’ chance 
’long side er me dan a sick sparrer wid a squinch-owl. 
You gotter travel wid a circus ’fo’ you gits away wid 




A CASE OF MEASLES. 


235 


me. You better go ’long an’ git yo’ kyarpet-sack and 
skip de town. Youer de freshest nigger w’at I seen 
yit.” 

The Charleston negro passed on just as a policeman 
came up. 

“ Boss, you see dat smart Ellick ? ” 

“ Yes; what’s the matter with him ? ” 

“ He’s one er deze yer scurshun niggers from Charl- 
stun. I seed you a stannin’ over agin de cornder yan- 
der, an’ ef dat nigger’d a drawd his monty kyards on 
me, I wuz a gwineter holler fer you. Would youer 
come, boss ? ” 

“ Why, certainly, Uncle Remus.” 

“ Dat’s w’at I ’lowd. Little more’n he’d a bin 
aboard er de wrong waggin. Dat’s w’at he’d a bin.” 


x. 

A CASE OF MEASLES. 

“You’ve been looking like you were rather under 
the weather for the past week or two, Uncle Remus,” 
said a gentleman to the old man. 

“ You’d be sorter puny, too, boss, if you’der bin 
whar I bin.” 

“ Where have you been ? ” 

“ ’Fear ter me like ev’eybody done year ’bout dat. 


236 


HIS SAYINGS. 


Bey ain’t no ole nigger my age an’ size dat’s had no 
rattliner time dan I is.” 

“ A kind of picnic ? ” 

“ Gro ’long, boss! w’at you speck I be doin’ sailin’ 
’roun’ ter dese yer cullud picnics? Much mo’ an’ I 
wouldn’t make bread by wukkin fer’t, let ’lone follerin’ 
up a passel er boys an’ gals all over keration. Boss, 
ain’t you year ’bout it, sho’ ’nuff ? ” 

“ I haven’t, really. What was the matter ?” 

“ I got strucken wid a sickness, an’ she hit de ole 
nigger a joe-darter ’fo’ she tu’n ’im loose.” 

“ What kind of sickness ? ” 

“ Hit look sorter cu’ous, boss, but ole an’ steddy ez 
I is, I tuck’n kotch de meezles.” 

“ Oh, get out! You are trying to get up a sensa¬ 
tion.” 

u Hit’s a natal fack, boss, I declar’ ter grashus ef 
’tain’t. Dey sorter come on wid a cole, like—leas’ways 
dat’s how I commence fer ter suffer, an’ den er koff 
got straddle er de cole—one dese yer koffs w’at look 
like hit goes ter de foundash’n. I kep’ on linger’n’ 
’roun’ sorter keepin’ one eye on the rheumatiz an’ de 
udder on de distemper, twel, bimeby, I begin fer ter 
feel de trestle-wuk give way, an’ den I des know’d dat 
I wuz gwineter gitter racket. I slipt inter bed one 
Chuseday night, an’ I never slip out no mo’ fer mighty 
nigh er mont’. 

“ Hex’ mornin’ de meezles’d done kivered me, an’ 


A CASE OF MEASLES. 


237 


den ef I didn’t git dosted by de ole ’oman I’m a Cliinee. 
She gimme back rashuns er sassafac tea. I des natally 
hankered an’ got hongry atter water, an’ ev’y time I 
sing out fer water I got b’ilin’ hot sassafac tea. Hit 
got so dat w’en I wake up in de mornin’ de ole ’oman 
’d des come ’long wid a kittle er tea an’ fill me up. 



Dey tells me ’roun’ town dat chilluns don’t git hurted 
wid de meezles, w’ich ef dey don’t I wanter be a baby 
de nex’ time dey hits dis place. All dis yer meezles 
bizness is bran’-new ter me. In ole times, ’fo’ de wah, 
I ain’t heer tell er no seventy-fi’-y ear-ole nigger grap¬ 
plin’ wid no meezles. Dey ain’t ketchin’ no -mo’, is 
dey, boss ? ” 




238 


HIS SAYINGS. 


“ Oh, no—I suppose not.” 

u ’Kase ef dey is, youk’n des put my name down 
wid de migrashun niggers.” 


THE EMIGRANTS. 

When Uncle Remus went down to the passenger 
depot one morning recently, the first sight that caught 
his eye was an old negro man, a woman, and two chil¬ 
dren sitting in the shade near the door of the baggage- 
room. One of the children was very young, and the 
quartet was altogether ragged and forlorn-looking. 
The sympathies of Uncle Remus were immediately 
aroused. He approached the group by forced marches, 
and finally unburdened his curiosity : 

“ Whar is you m’anderin’ unter, pard ? ” 

The old negro, who seemed to be rather suspicious, 
looked at Uncle Remus coolly, and appeared to be con¬ 
sidering whether he should make any reply. Finally, 
however, he stretched himself and said : 

“We er gwine down in de naberhoods er Tally- 
poosy, an’ we ain’t makin’ no fuss ’bout it, nudder.” 

“I disremember,” said Uncle Remus, thoughtfully, 
“ whar Tallypoosy is.” 

“ Oh, hit’s out yan ” replied the old man, motion¬ 
ing his head as if it was just beyond the iron gates of 


THE EMIGRANTS. 


239 


the depot. “Hit’s down in Alabam. When we git 
dar, maybe we’ll go on twel we gits ter Massasip.” 

“ Is you got enny folks out dar ? ” inquired Uncle 
Remus. 

“None,dat I knows un.” 

“An’ youer takin’ dis ’oman an’ deze chillun out 
dar whar dey dunno nobody ? Whar’s yo’ perwisions ? ” 
eying a chest with a rope 
around it. 

“ Dem’s our bed-cloze,” 
the old negro ex¬ 
plained, noticing 
the glance of Uncle 
Remus. “ All de 
vittles what we 
got we e’t ’fo’ we 
started.” 

“ An’ you speck 
ter retch dar safe 
an’ soun’ ? Whar’s 
yo’ ticket ? ” 

“ Ain’t got none. De man say ez how dey’d pass 
us thoo. I gin a man a fi’-dollar bill ’fo’ I lef’ Jones¬ 
boro, an’ he sed dat settled it.” 

“ Lemme tell you dis,” said Uncle Remus, straighten¬ 
ing up indignantly : “ you go an’ rob somebody an’ git 
on de chain-gang, an’ let de ’oman scratch ’roun’ yer an’ 
make ’er livin’; but don’t you git on dem kyars—don’t 




240 


HIS SAYINGS. 


you do it. Yo’ bes’ holt is de chain-gang. You kin 
make yo’ livin’ dar w’en you can’t make it nowhars 
else. But don’t you git on dem kyars. Ef you do, youer 
gone nigger. Ef you ain’t got no money fer ter walk 
back wid, you better des b’il’ yo’ nes’ right here. I’m 
a-talkin’ wid de bark on. I done seed deze yer Arkin- 
saw emmygrants come lopein’ back, an’ some un ’em 
didn’t have rags nuff on ’em fer ter hide dere nakid- 
ness. You leave dat box right whar she is, an’ let de 
’oman take wun young un an’ you take de udder wun, 
an’ den you git in de middle er de big road an’ pull 
out fer de place whar you come fum. I’m preachin’ 
now.” 

Those who watched say the quartet didn’t take the 
cars. 


XII. 

AS A MURDERER. 

Uncle Remus met a police officer recently. 
u You ain’t hear talk er no dead nigger no whar dis 
mawnin’, is you, boss ? ” asked the old man earnestly. 

“ Ho,” replied the policeman, reflectively. “ No, I 
believe not. Have you heard of any ? ” 

“ ’Pears unter me dat I come mighty nigh gittin’ 
some news ’bout dat size, an’ dat’s w’at I’m a huntin’ fer. 
Bekaze ef dey er foun’ a stray nigger layin’ ’roun’ 
loose, wid ’is bref gone, den I wanter go home an’ git my 


AS A MURDERER. 


241 


brekfus, an’ put on some clean cloze, an’ ’liver myse’f 
up ter wunner deze yer jestesses er de peace, an’ git a 
fa’r trial.” 

“ Why, have you killed anybody ? ” 

“ Dat’s w’at’s I’m a ’quirin’ inter now, but I wouldn’t 
be sustonished ef I ain’t laid a nigger out some’rs on de 
subbubs. Hit’s done got so it’s agin de law fer ter bus’ 
loose an’ kill a nigger, ain’t it, boss ? ” 

“ Well, I should say so. You don’t mean to tell me 
that you have killed a colored man, do you ? ” 

a I speck I is, boss. I speck I done gone an’ done 
it dis time, sho’. Hit’s bin sorter growin’ on me, an’ it 
come ter a head dis mawnin’, less my name ain’t Re¬ 
mus, an’ dat’s w’at dey bin er callin’ me sence I wuz 
ole er ’null fer ter scratch myse’f wid my lef’ han’.” 

“ Well, if you’ve killed a man, you’ll have some fun, 
sure enough. How was it ? ” 

“ Hit wuz dis way, boss: I wuz layin’ in my bed 
dis mawnin’ sorter ruminatin’ ’roun’, when de fus news 
I know’d I year a fus ’mong de chickens, an’ den my 
brissels riz. I done had lots er trubble wid dem 
chickens, an’ w’en I years wun un urn squall my ve’y 
shoes comes ontied. So I des sorter riz up an’ retch 
fer my ole muskit, and den I crope out er de back do’, 
an’ w’atter you reckin I seed ? ” 

“ I couldn’t say.” 

“ I seed de biggest, blackest nigger dat you ever 
laid eyes on. He shined like de paint on ’im was fresh. 


242 


HIS SAYINGS. 


He lied done grabbed fo’er my forwardes’ pullets. I 
crope up nigh de do’, an’ hollered an’ axed ’im how he 
wuz a gittin’ on, an’ den he broke, an’ ez he broke I 
jammed de gun in de small er his back and banged 



aloose. He let a yell like forty yaller cats a courtin’, 
an den he broke. You ain’t seed no nigger hump 
hisse’f like dat nigger. He tore down de well shelter 
and fo’ pannils er fence, an’ de groun’ look like wunner 
deze yer harrycanes had lit dar and fanned up de 
yeath.” 

“ I thought you killed him ? ” 












HIS PRACTICAL VIEW OF THINGS. 


243 


“ He bleedzed ter be dead, boss. Ain’t I put de 
gun right on ’im ? Seem like I feel ’im give way w’en 
she went off.” 

“ Was the gun loaded ? ” 

“ Hat’s w’at my ole ’oman say. She had de powder 
in dar, sho’, but I disremember wedder I put de buck¬ 
shot in, er wedder I lef’ um out. Leas’ways, I’m 
gwineter call on wunner deze yer jestesses. So long, 
boss.” 


XIII. 

HIS PRACTICAL VIEW OF THINGS. 

• 

,c Brer Remus, is you heern tell er deze doin’s out 
yer in de udder eend er town ? ” asked a colored deacon 
of the church the other day. 

“ W’at doin’s is dat, Brer Ab \ ” 

“ Deze yer signs an’ wunders whar dat cullud lady 
died day ’fo’ yistiddy. Mighty quare goin’s on out dar, 
Brer Remus, sho’s you bawn.” 

“ Sperrits ? ” inquired Uncle Remus, sententiously. 

“ Wuss’n dat, Brer Remus. Some say dat jedgment- 
day ain’t fur off, an’ de folks is flockin’ ’roun’ de house 
a hollerin’ an’ a shoutin’ des like dey wuz in er re¬ 
vival. In de winder glass dar you kin see de flags a 
flyin’, an’ Jacob’s lather is dar, an’ dar’s writin’ on de 
pane w’at no man can’t read—leas’wise dey ain’t none 
read it yit.” 


244 


HIS SAYINGS. 


“ W’at kinder racket is dis youer givin’ un me now, 
Brer Ab ? ” 

c ^ done bin dar, Brer Bemus*; I done seed um wid 
bofe my eyes. Cullud lady what wuz intranced done 
woke up an’ say dey ain’t much time 
fer ter tarry. She say she meet er 
angel in de road, 
an’ he p’inted 
straight fer de 
mornin’ star, an’ 
i tell her fer ter 
prepar’. Hit 
look mighty 
cu’us, Brer 
Bemus.” 

Cum down ter dat, Brer 
Ab,” said Uncle Bemus, wiping 
his spectacles carefully, and readjusting them— “cum 
down ter dat, an’ dey ain’t nuthin’ dat ain’t cu’us. I 



ain’t no spishus nigger myse’f, but I ’spizes fer ter year 
dogs a howlin’ an’ squinch-owls havin’ de ager out in de 
woods, an’ w’en a bull goes a bellerin’ by de house den 
my bones git cole an’ my flesh commences fer ter 


creep ; but w’en it comes ter deze yer sines in de a’r 
an’ deze yer sperrits in de woods, den I’m out—den 
Im done. I is, fer a fack. I bin livin’ yer more’n 
seventy year, an’ I year talk er niggers seein’ ghos’es 
all times er night an’ all times er day, but I ain’t never 








THAT DECEITFUL JUG. 


245 


seed none yit; an’ deze yer flags an’ Jacob’s lathers, I 
ain’t seed dem, nudder.” 

“ Dey er dar, Brer Remus.” 

“ Hit’s des like I tell you, Brer Ab. I ain’t ’sputin’ 
’bout it, but I ain’t seed um, an’ I don’t take no chances 
deze days on dat w’at I don’t see, an’ dat w’at I sees I 
got ter ’zamine mighty close. Lemme tell you dis, 
Brer Ab : don’t you let deze sines onsettle you. W’en 
old man Gabrile toot his ho’n, he ain’t gwinter hang 
no sine out in de winder-panes, an’ when ole Fadder 
Jacob lets down dat lather er his’n you’ll be mighty ap’ 
fer ter hear de. racket. An’ don’t you bodder wid 
jedgment-day. Jedgment-day is lierbul fer ter take 
keer un itse’f.” 

“ Dat’s so, Brer Remus.” 

“ Hit’s bleedzed ter be so, Brer Ab. Hit don’t 
bodder me. Hit’s done got so now dat w’en I gotter 
pone er bread, an’ a rasher er bacon, an’ nuff grease fer 
ter make gravy, I ain’t keerin’ much w’edder fokes sees 
ghos’es er no.” 


XIV. 

THAT DECEITFUL JUG. 

Uncle Remus was in good humor one evening 
recently when he dropped casually into the editorial 
room of “ The Constitution,” as has been his custom 
for the past year or two. He had a bag slung across 


246 


HIS SAYINGS. 


his shoulder, and in the bag was a jug. The presence 
of this humble but useful vessel in Uncle Remus’s bag 
was made the occasion for several suggestive jokes at 
his expense by the members of the staff, but the old 
man’s good humor was proof against all insinuations. 

u Dat ar jug’s bin ter wah, mon. Hit’s wunner 
deze yer ole timers. I got dat jug down dar in Putmon 
County w’en Mars ’Lislia Perryman wuz a young man, 
an’ now he’s done growed up, an’ got ole an’ died, an’ 
his chilluns is growed up an’ dey kin count dere gran’- 
chilluns, an’ yit dar’s dat jug des ez lively an’ ez lierbul 
fer ter kick up devilment ez w’at she wuz w’en she 
come fum de foundry.” 

That s the trouble,” said one of the young men. 
u That’s the reason w’d like to know what’s in it now.” 

“Now youer gittin’ on ma’shy groun’,” replied 
Uncle Remus. “ Dat’s de p’int. Dat’s w’at make me 
say w at I duz. I bin knowin’ dat jug now gwine on 
sixty-fi’ year, an’ de jug w’at’s more seetful dan dat jug 
ain’t on de topside er de worrul. Dar she sets,” con¬ 
tinued the old man, gazing at it reflectively, “ dar she 
sets dez ez natchul ez er ambertype, an’ yit whar’s de 
man w’at kin tell w’at kinder confab she’s a gwineter 
carry on w’en dat corn-cob is snatched outen ’er mouf ? 
Dat jug is mighty seetful, mon.” 

“Well, it don’t deceive any of us up here,” re¬ 
marked the agricultural editor, dryly. “ We’ve seen 
jugs before.” 


THAT DECEITFUL JUG. 


247 


“ I boun’ you is, boss; I boun’ you is. But you 
ain’t seed no seetful jug like dat. Dar she sets a 
bellyin’ out an’ lookin’ mighty fat an’ full, an’ yit she’d 
set dar a bellyin’ out ef dere wuzent nuthin’ but win’ 
under dat stopper. You knows dat she ain’t got no 
aigs in her, ner no bacon, ner no grits, ner no termar- 
tusses, ner no shellotes, an’ dat’s ’bout all you duz 
know. Dog my cats ef de seetfulness er dat jug don’t 
git away wid me,” continued Uncle Remus, with a 
chuckle. “ I wuz cornin’ ’cross de bridge des now, an’ 
Brer John Henry seed me wid de bag slung onter my 
back, an’ de jug in it, an’ he ups an’ sez, sezee: 

“ ‘ Heyo, Brer Remus, ain’t it gittin’ late for water- 
millions ? ’ 

“ Hit wuz de seetfulness er dat jug. If Brer John 
Henry know’d de color er dat watermillion, I speck he’d 
snatch me up ’fo’ de confunce. I ’clar’ ter grashus ef 
dat jug ain’t a caution ! ” 

“ I suppose it’s full of molasses now,” remarked one 
of the young men, sarcastically. 

“ Hear dat! ” exclaimed Uncle Remus, triumphantly 
—“hear dat! W’at I tell you? I sed dat jug wuz 
seetful, an’ I sticks to it. I bin knowin’ dat—” 

“ What has it got in it ? ” broke in some one; 
“ molasses, kerosene, or train-oil ? ” 

“ Well, I lay she’s loaded, boss. I ain’t shuk her up 
sence I drapt in, but I lay she’s loaded.” 

“Yes,” said the agricultural editor, “and it’s the 


248 


HIS SAYINGS. 


meanest bug-juice in town—regular sorghum skim- 
mings.” 

“ Dat’s needer yer ner dar,” responded Uncle Re¬ 
mus. “ Po’ fokes better be lixin’ up for Chrismus now 
w’ile rashuns is cheap. Dat’s me. W’en I year Miss 
Sally gwine ’bout de house w’isslin’ 6 W’en I k’n Read 
my Titles Cler ’—an’ w’en I see de martins swawmin’ 
atter sundown—an’ w’en I year de peckerwoods con- 
fabbin’ tergedder dese moonshiny nights in my een’ er 
town—den I knows de hot wedder’s a breakin’ up, an’ 
I knows it’s ’bout time fer po’ fokes fer ter be rastlin’ 
’roun’ and huntin’ up dere rashuns. Dat’s me, up an’ 
down.” 

“Well, we are satisfied. Better go and hire a 
hall,” remarked the sporting editor, with a yawn. “ If 
you are engaged in a talking match you have won the 
money. Blanket him somebody, and take him to the 
stable.” 

“ An’ w’at’s mo’,” continued the old man, scorning 
to notice the insinuation, “ dough I year Miss Sally 
w’isslin’, an’ de peckerwoods a chatterin’, I ain’t seein’ 
none er deze yer loafin’ niggers fixin’ up fer ter 
’migrate. Dey kin holler Kansas all ’roun’ de naber- 
hood, but ceppin’ a man come ’long an’ spell it wid 
greenbacks, he don’t ketch none er deze yer town nig¬ 
gers. You year me, dey ain’t gwine.” 

“Stand him up on the table,” said the sporting 
editor ; “ give him room.” 


THAT DECEITFUL JUG. 


249 


6( Better go down yer ter de calaboose, an’ git some 
news fer ter print,” said Uncle Remus, with a touch of 
irony in his tone. “ Some new nigger mighter broke 
inter jail.” 

“You say the darkeys are not going to emigrate 
this year ? ” inquired the agricultural editor, who is 
interested in these things. 

“ Shoo ! dat dey ain’t! I done seed an’ I knows.” 

“ Well, how do you know ? ” 

“ How you tell w’en crow gwineter light ? Niggers 
bin prom’nadin’ by my house all dis summer, holdin’ 
dere heads high up an’ de w’ites 
er dere eyeballs shinin’ in de sun. 

Dey wuz too bigitty 
fer ter look over 
de gyardin’ palin’s. 
’Long ’bout den de 
wedder wuz fetchin’ 
de nat’al sperrits 
er turkentime 
outen de pine- 
trees an’ de 
groun’ wuz 
fa’rly smokin’ 
wid de hot¬ 
ness. Now dat it’s gittin’ sorter airish in de mornin’s, 
dey don’t ’pear like de same niggers. Dey done got 

so dey’ll look over in de yard, an’ nex’ news you know 
18 










250 


HIS SAYINGS. 


dey’ll be tryin’ fer ter scrape up ’quaintence wid de 
dog. W’en dey passes now dey looks at de chicken- 
coop an’ at de tater-patch. W’en you see niggers 
gittin’ dat familious, you kin ’pen’ on dere campin ? 
wid you de ballunce er de season. Day ’fo’ yistiddy 
I kotch one un um lookin’ over de fence at my shoats, 
an’ I sez, sez I: 

“ ‘ Duz you wanter purchis dem hogs ? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, no,’ sezee,‘I wuz des lookin’ at dere p’ints.’ 

“‘Well, dey ain’t p’intin’ yo’ way,’ sez I, ‘an’, 
fuddermo’,* ef you don’t bodder ’longer dem hogs dey 
ain’t gwineter clime outer dat pen an’ ’tack you, 
nudder,’ sez I. 

“An’ I boun’,” continued Uncle Remus, driving the 
corn-cob stopper a little tighter in his deceitful jug and 
gathering up his bag—“ an’ I boun’ dat my ole muskit’ll 
go off ’tween me an’ dat same nigger yit, an’ he’ll be at 
de bad een’, an’ dis seetful jug’ll ’fuse ter go ter de 
funer’l.” 


xv. 

THE FLORIDA WATERMELON. 

“ Look yer, boy,” said Uncle Remus yesterday, 
stopping near the railroad crossing on Whitehall Street, 
and gazing ferociously at a small colored youth; “ look 
yer, boy, I’ll lay you out flat ef you come flingin’ yo’ 
watermillion rimes under my foot—you watch ef I 









































































• Ail’ I sot down an* wrop myse’f roun’ de whole blessid chunk, 



THE FLORIDA WATERMELON. 


251 


don’t. You k’n play yo’ pranks on deze yer w’ite 
fokes, but w’en you come a cuttin’ up yo’ capers roun’ 
me you 11 lan’ right in de middle uv er spell er sickness 

now you mine w’at I tell you. An’ I ain’t gwine fer 
ter put up wid none er yo’ sassness nudder—let’lone 
dingin’ watermillion rimes whar I kin git mixt up wid 
um. I done had nuff watermillions yistiddy an’ de day 
befo’” 

“ How .was that, Uncle Kemus ? ” asked a gentle¬ 
man standing near. 

“ Hit wuz sorter like dis, boss. Las’ Chuseday, 
Mars John he fotch home two er deze yer Flurridy 
watermillions, an him an’ Miss Sally sot down fer ter 
eat um. Mars John an’ Miss Sally ain’t got nuthin’ 
dat’s too good fer me, an’ de fus news I know’d Miss 
Sally wuz a hollerin’ fer Kemus. I done smelt de 
watermillion on de a’r, an’ I ain’t got no better sense 
dan fer ter go w’en I years w’ite fokes a hollerin’—I 
larnt dat w’en I wa’n’t so high. Leas’ways I galloped 
up ter de back po’ch, an’ dar sot de watermillions dez 
ez natchul ez ef dey’d er bin raised on de ole Spivey 
place in Putmon County. Den Miss Sally, she cut me 
off er slishe—wunner deze yer ongodly slishes, big ez 
yo’ hat, an’ I sot down on de steps an’ wrop myse’f 
roun’ de whole blessid chunk, ’cepin’ de rime.” Uncle 
Remus paused and laid his hand upon his stomach as 
if feeling for something. 

“ Well, old man, what then ? ” 


252 


HIS SAYINGS. 


“Dat’s w’at I’m a gittin’ at, boss,” said Uncle 
Remus, smiling a feeble smile. “ I santered roun’ 
’bout er half nour, an’ den I begin fer ter 
feel sorter squeemish—sorter like I done 


bin an’ swoller’d ’bout fo’ 



poun’s off’n de ruff een’ 
uv er scantlin’. Look 
like ter me dat I wuz 
gwineter be sick, an’ den 


hit look like I 
wuzent. Bimeby a 
little pain showed 
__ ’is head an’ 
sorter m’an- 
dered roun’ 


like he wuz a 
lookin’ fer a good 


place fer ter ketch holt, an’ den a great big pain jump 
up an’ take atter de little one an’ chase ’im ’roun’ an’ 
’roun’, an’ he mus’ er kotch ’im, kaze bimeby de big pain 
retch down an’ grab dis yer lef’ leg—so—an’ haul ’im 
up, an den he retch down an’ grab de udder one an’ 
pull him up, an’ den de wah begun, sho null. Fer 
mighty nigh fo’ hours dey kep’ up dat racket, an’ des 
ez soon ez a little pain ’ud jump up de big un ’ud light 
onter it an’ gobble it up, an’ den de big un ’ud go 
sailin’ roun’ huntin’ fer mo'. Some fokes is mighty 
cu’us, dough. Nex’ mornin’ I hear Miss Sally a laugh- 
















UNCLE REMUS PREACHES TO A CONVERT. 253 

in’, an’ singin’ an’ a w’isslin’ des like dey want no 
watermillions raise in Flurridy. But somebody better 
pen dis yer nigger boy up w’en I’m on de town—I kin 
tell you dat.” 


UNCLE REMUS PREACHES TO A CONVERT. 

Dey tells me you done jine de chu’ch,” said Uncle 
Remus to Pegleg Charley. 

“ Yes, sir,” responded Charley, gravely, “ dat’s so.” 

“Well, I’m mighty glad er dat,” remarked Uncle 
Remus, with unction. “It’s ’bout time dat I wuz 
spectin’ fer ter hear un you in de chain-gang, an’, 
stidder dat, hit’s de chu’ch. Well, dey ain’t no tellin’ 
deze days whar a nigger’s gwineter lan’.” 

“ Yes,” responded Charley, straightening himself up 
and speaking in a dignified tone, “yes, I’m fixin’ to do 
better. I’m preparin’ fer to shake worldliness. I’m 
done quit so’shatin’ wid deze w’ite town boys. Dey’ve 
been a goin’ back on me too rapidly here lately, an’ 
now I’m a goin’ back on dem.” 

“Well, ef you done had de speunce un it, I’m 
mi g ht y glad. Ef you got ’lijjun, you better hole 
on to it ’twell de las’ day in de mornin’. Hit’s mighty 
good fer ter kyar’ ’roun’ wid you in de day time an’ 
likewise in de night time. Hit’ll pay you mo’ dan 


254 


HIS SAYINGS. 


politics, an’ ef you stan’s up like you oughter, hit’ll 
las’ longer dan a bone-fellum. But you wanter have 
one er deze yer ole-tirne grips, an’ you des gotter shet 
yo’ eyes an’ swing on like wunner deze yer bull-tarrier 
dogs.” 

“Oh, I’m goin’ to stick, Uncle Remus. You kin 
put your money on dat. Deze town boys can’t play no 
more uv dere games on me. I’m fixed. Can’t you 


lend me a dime, Uncle Remus, to buy 
a pie? I’m dat hongry dat my 
nnach is gittin’ ready to go in 
o’nin’.” 



Uncle Remus eyed Charley curi¬ 
ously a moment, while the latter 
looked quietly at his timber toe. 
Finally, the old man sighed and 
spoke: 


“ How long is you bin in de 
chu’ch, son ? ” 


“Mighty near a week,” re¬ 
plied Charley. 


“Well, lemme tell you dis, 
now, ’fo’ you go enny fudder. 
You ain’t bin in dar long nuff 


fer ter go ’roun’ takin up conterbutions. Wait ontwell 
you gits sorter seasoned like, an’ den I’ll hunt ’roun’ 
in my cloze an’ see ef I can’t run out a thrip er two 
fer you. But don’t you levy taxes too early.” 





AS TO EDUCATION. 


255 


Charley laughed, and said he would let the old man 
off if he would treat to a watermelon. 


XVII. 

AS TO EDUCATION. 

As Uncle Remus came up Whitehall Street recently, 
he met a little colored boy carrying a slate and a num¬ 
ber of books. Some words passed between them, but 
their exact purport will probably. never be known. 
They were unpleasant, for the attention of a wandering 
policeman was called to the matter by hearing the old 
man bawl out: 

“ Don’t you come foolin’ longer me, nigger. Youer 
flippin’ yo’ sass at de wrong color. You k’n go roun’ 
yer an’ sass deze w’ite people, an’ maybe dey’ll stan’ it, 
but w’en you come a slingin’ yo’ jaw at a man w’at 
wuz gray w’en de fahmin’ days gin out, you better go 
an’ git yo’ hide greased.” 

“ What ’ s the matter, old man ? ” asked a sympathiz- 
ing policeman. 

Nothin’, boss, ’ceppin I ain’t gwineter hay’ no 
nigger chillun a hoopin’ an’ a hollerin’ at me w’en I’m 
gwine ’long de streets.” 

“Oh, well, school-children—you know how they 


are. 


Dat s w at make I say w’at I duz. Dey better be 


256 


HIS SAYINGS. 


home pickin’ np chips. W’at a nigger gwineter l’arn 
onten books? I kin take a bar’l stave an’ fling mo’ 
sense inter a nigger in one minnit dan 
all de school-houses betwixt dis en de 
State er Midgigin. Don’t talk, honey! 

Wid one bar’l stave I kin fa’rly lif’ de 
vail er ignunce.” 

“ Then you don’t believe in educa¬ 
tion ? ” 

“ Hit’s de ruinashun er dis 
country. Look at my gal. 

De ole ’oman sont ’er ter 
school las’ year, an’ now we 
dassent hardly ax ’er fer ter kyar de washin’ home. 
She done got beyant ’er bizness. I ain’t larnt nuthin’ 
in books, ’en yit I kin count all de money I gits. No 
use talkin’, boss. Put a spellin’-book in a nigger’s 
ban’s, en right den en dar’ you loozes a plow-hand. I 
done had de speunce un it.” 



XVIII. 

A TEMPERANCE REFORMER. 

“Yer Come Uncle Remus,” said a well-dressed 
negro, who was standing on the sidewalk near James’s 
bank recently, talking to a crowd of barbers. “ Yer 
come Uncle Remus. I boun’ he’ll sign it.” 



A TEMPERANCE REFORMER. 


257 

“ You’ll fling yo’ money away ef you bet on it,” 
responded Uncle Eemus. “I ain’t turnin’ nothin’ 
loose on chu’ch ’scriptions. I wants money right now 
fer ter git a pint er meal.” 

“ ’Tain’t dat.” 

“ An’ I ain’t heppin fer ter berry nobody. Much’s 
I kin do ter keep de bref in my own body.” 

“ ’Tain’t dat, nudder.” 

An’ I ain’t puttin’ my han’ ter no reckommends. 
I’m fear’d fer ter say a perlite wud ’bout myse’f, an’ I 
des know I ain’t gwine ’roun’ flatter’n up deze udder 
niggers.” 

“ An’ ’tain’t dat,” responded the darkey, who held a 
paper in his hand. “We er gittin’ up a Good Tempel- 
er’s lodge, an’ we like ter git yo’ name.” 

“ Eh-eh, honey ! I done see too 
much er dis nigger tempunce. Dey 
stan’ up mighty squar’ ontwell dere 
dues commence ter cramp um, an’ 
dey don’t stan’ de racket wuf a 
durn. No longer’n yistiddy I seed 
one er de head men er one er dese 
Tempeler’s s’cieties totin’ water fer 
a bar-room. He had de water in 
a bucket, but dey ain’t no tellin’ 
how much red licker he wuz a 
totin’. G’long, chile—jine yo’ 
s’ciety an’ be good ter yo’se’: 





258 


HIS SAYINGS. 


I m a gittin’ too ole. Gimme th’ee er fo’ drams 
endurin’ er de day, an’ I’m mighty nigh ez good a 
tempunce man ez de next un. I got ter scuffle fer 
sump’n t’eat.” 


XIX. 


AS A WEATHER PROPHET 

Uncle Remus was enlightening a crowd of negroes 
at the car-shed yesterday. 

“ Dar ain’t nuthin’,” said the old man, shaking his 
head pensively, “dat ain’t got no change wrote on it. 

Dar ain’t nothin dat ain’t spotted 
befo’ hit begins fer ter commence. 
We all speunces dat p’over- 
dence w’at lifts us up fum 
one place an’ sets us 
down in de udder. Hit’s 
continerly a movin’ an’ 
a movin’.” 

“ Dat’s so! ” “ Youer 
talkin’ now! ” came 
from several of his hearers. 

I year Miss Sally readin’ dis mawnin,” continued 
the old man, “dat a man wuz cornin’ down yer fer ter 
take keer er de wedder—wunner deze yer Buro mens 
w’at goes ’roun’ a puttin’ up an’ pullin’ down.” 

“ W’at he gwine do ’roun’ yer ? ” asked one. 



AS A WEATHER PROPHET. 


259 


“ He’s a gwineter regelate de wedder,” replied 
Uncle Remus, sententiously. “ He’s a gwineter fix hit 
up so dat dere won’t be so much worriment ’mong de 
w ite fokes ’bout de kitider wedder w’at falls ^o dere 
lot.” 

“ He gwine dish em up,” suggested one of the older 
ones, “ like man dish out sugar.” 

“ No,” answered Uncle Remus, mopping his benign 
features with a very large and very red bandana. 
“ He’s a gwineter fix um better’n dat. He’s a gwineter 
fix um up so you kin have any kinder wedder w’at you 
want widout totin’ her home.” 

“ How’s dat ? ” asked some one. 

“ Hit’s dis way,” said the old man, thoughtfully. 
“ In co’se you knows w’at kinder wedder you wants. 
Well, den, w’en de man comes ’long,'w’icli Miss Sally 
say he will, you des gotter go up dar, pick out yo’ wed¬ 
der an’ dere’ll be a clock sot fer ter suit yo’ case, an’ 
w’en you git home, dere’ll be yo’ wedder a settin’ out 
in de yard waitin’ fer you. I wish he wuz yer now,” 
the old man continued. “ I’d take a p’ar er frosts in 
mine, ef I kotched cold fer it. Dat’s me ! ” 

There were various exclamations of assent, and the 
old man went on his way singing, “ Don’t you Grieve 
Atter Me.” 


260 


HIS SAYINGS. 


XX. 


THE OLD MAN'S TROUBLES. 

“ What makes you look so lonesome, Brer Remus ? ” 
asked a well-dressed negro, as the old man came shuf¬ 
fling down the street by James’s corner yesterday. 

“Youer mighty right, I’m lonesome, Brer 
John Henry. W’en a ole nigger like 
me is gotter paddle de canoe an’ do de 
fishin’ at de same time, an’ w’en you 
bleedzd ter ketch de fish an’ 
dassent turn de paddle loose fer 
ter bait de hook, den I tell you, 
Brer John, youer right whar 
de mink had de goslin’. Mars 
John and Miss Sally, dey done 
bin gone down unto Putmon 
County fer ter see dere kin¬ 
folks mighty nigh fo’ days, an’ 
you better b’leeve I done bin had ter scratch ’roun’ 
mighty lively fer ter make de rashuns run out even.” 

“ I wuz at yo’ house las’ night, Brer Remus,” re¬ 
marked Brer John Henry, “but I couldn’t roust you 
outer bed.” 

“ Hit was de unseasonableness er de hour, I speck,” 
said Uncle Remus, dryly. “ ’Pears unto me dat you all 
chu’ch deacons settin’ up mighty late deze cole nights. 




THE OLD MAN’S TROUBLES. 


261 


You’ll be slippin’ round arter hours some time er nud- 
der, an’ you’ll slip bodaciously inter de calaboose. You 
mine w’at I tell you.” 

“ It’s mighty cole wedder,” said Brer John Henry, 
evidently wishing to change the subject. 

“Cole!” exclaimed Uncle Remus; “hit got pas’ 
cole on de quarter stretch. You oughter come to my 
house night ’fo’ las’. Den you’d a foun’ me ’live an’ 
kickin’.” 

“ How’s dat?” 

“Well, I tell you, Brer John Henry, de cole wuz so 
cole, an’ de kiver wuz so light, dat I thunk I’d make a 
raid on Mars John’s shingle pile, an’ out I goes an’ 
totes in a whole armful. Den I gits under de kiver an’ 
tells my ole ’oman fer ter lay ’em onto me like she was 
roofin’ a house. Bimeby she crawls in, an’ de shingles 
w’at she put on her side fer ter kiver wid, dey all drap 
off on de flo’. Den up I gits an’ piles ’em on agin, an’ 
w’en I gits in bed my shingles draps off, an’ dat’s de 
way it wuz de whole blessid night. Fus’ it wuz me up 
an’ den de ole ’oman, an’ it kep’ us pow’ful warm, too, 
dat kinder exercise. Oh, you oughter drapt roun’ ’bout 
dat time, Brer John Henry. You’d a year’d sho’ nuff 
cussin’! ” 

“ You don’t tell me, Brer Remus ! ” 

“ My ole ’oman say de Ole Boy wouldn’t a foun’ a 
riper nigger, ef he wer’ ter scour de country fum Fer- 
ginny ter de Alabam! ” 


262 


HIS SAYINGS. 


XXI. 

THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

Uncle Remus made his appearance recently with 
his right arm in a sling and his head bandaged to that 
extent that it looked like the stick made to accompany 
the Centennial bass-drum. The old man evidently ex¬ 
pected an attack all around, for he was unusually quiet, 
and fumbled in his pockets in an embarrassed manner. 
He was not mistaken. The agricultural editor was the 
first to open fire : 

“Well, you old villain! what have you been up to 
now ? ” 

“ It is really singular,” remarked a commencement 
orator, “that not even an ordinary holiday—a holiday, 
it seems to me, that ought to arouse all the latent in¬ 
stincts of patriotism in the bosom of American citizens 
—can occur without embroiling some of our most valu¬ 
able citizens. It is really singular to me that such a 
day should be devoted by a certain class of our popula¬ 
tion to broils and fisticuffs.” 

This fine moral sentiment, which was altogether an 
impromptu utterance, and which was delivered with 
the air of one who addresses a vast but invisible audi¬ 
ence of young ladies in white dresses and blue sashes, 
seemed to add to the embarrassment of Uncle Remus, 
and at the same time to make an explanation necessary. 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


263 


“ Dey ain’t none er you young w’ite men never had 
no ’casion fer ter strike up wid one er deze Mobile nig¬ 
gers ? ” asked Uncle Remus. “ ’Kaze ef you iz, den you 
knows wharbouts de devilment come in. Show me a 
Mobile nigger,” continued the old man, “ an’ I’ll show 
you a nigger dat’s marked for de chain-gang. Hit may 
be de fote er de fif’ er July, er hit may be de twelf’ er 
Jinawerry, but w’en a Mobile nigger gits in my naber- 
hood right den an’ dar trubble sails in an’ ’gages 
bode fer de season. I speck I’m ez fon’ er deze 
Hunited States ez de nex’ man w’at knows dat de Buro 
is busted up; but long ez Remus kin stan’ on his hine 
legs no Mobile nigger can’t flip inter dis town longer 
noWes’ P’int ’schushun an’ boss ’roun’ ’mong de cullud 
fokes. Dat’s me, up an’ down, an’ I boun’ dere’s a nig¬ 
ger some’rs on de road dis blessid day dat’s got dis put 
away in his ’membunce.” 

“How did he happen to get you down and maul 
you in this startling manner ?” asked the commence¬ 
ment orator, with a tone of exaggerated sympathy in 
his voice. 

“ Maul who ? ” exclaimed Uncle Remus, indignantly. 
“ Maul who ? Boss, de nigger dat mauled me ain’t 
bornded yit, an’ dey er got ter have anudder war ’fo 
one is bornded.” 

“ Well, what was the trouble ? ” 

“ Hit wuz sorter dis way, boss. I wuz stannin’ 
down dere by Mars John Jeeins’s bank, chattin’ wid Sis 


264 


HIS SAYINGS. 


Tempy, w’ich I ain’t seed ’er befo’ now gwine on seven 
year, an’ watchin’ de folks trompin’ by, w’en one er deze 
yer slick-lookin’ niggers, wid a bee-gum hat an’ a brass 


watch ez big ez de 
head uv a beer-bar’l, 
come ’long an’ 
bresh up agin me 
—so. Dere wuz 
two un um, an’ 
dey went ’long 
gigglin’ an’ laffin’ 
like a nes’ful er 
yaller - hammers. 
Bimeby dey come 
’long agin an’ de 
smart Ellick brush 
up by me once mo’. Den I say 
to myse’f, ‘ I lay I fetch you ef you 
gimme anudder invite.’ An’, sho’ ’nuff, yer he come 
agin, an’ dis time he rub a piece er watermillion rime 
under my lef’ year.” 

“ What did you do ? ” 



“ Me ? I’m a mighty long-sufferin’ nigger, but he 
hadn t no mo n totcli me ’fo’ I flung dese yer bones in 
his face.” Here Uncle Bemus held up his damaged 
hand triumphantly. “ I sorter sprained my han’, boss, 
but dog my cats if I don’t b’leeve I spattered de nig¬ 
ger’s eyeballs on de groun’, and w’en he riz his count’- 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


265 


nence look fresh like beef-haslett. I look mighty 
spindlin’ an’ puny now, don’t I, boss ? ” inquired the old 
man, with great apparent earnestness. 

“ Bather.” 

“Well, you des oughter see me git my Affikin up. 
Dey useter call me er bad nigger long ’fo’ de war, an’ 
hit looks like ter me dat I gits wuss an’ wuss. Brer 
John Henry say dat I oughter supdue my rashfulness, 
an’ I don’t ’spute it, but tu’n a Mobile nigger loose in 
dis town, fote er July or no fote er July, an’, me er 
him, one is got ter lan’ in jail. Hit’s proned inter 
me.” 

( 47 ) 


THE END. 


19 








^FOH SUAH YOU'SE GWINE TO READ:" 


The Tar-Baby and 
Uncle Remus. 


Other Rhymes of 


T T JjJ° EL Chandler Harris. Twenty-six poems by 
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adject f^r^ 

5ESS acrid' de Uncle 

life anTnat^?^*^?^^ 1 ^ 11 ^ 111, “i? char acteristic expressions of negro 

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<<rr , a „ —Chicago Record-Herald. 

■ a f 1 ? are twent y-five stories in this volume—twentv-five stories nf th* 

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RD 1 5 6 








































































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